Sons of Krishna: the politics of Yadav

community formation in a North Indian town

Lucia Michelutti

London School o f Economics and Political Science

University o f London

PhD Thesis
Social Anthropology
2002
 UMI Number: U61BB38

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f
Zosz
ABSTRACT

This thesis is an ethnographic exploration of the inter-locking relationships

between politics, popular democracy, religion and caste/community formation in
a North Indian town. This study is conducted through an exploration of the
political rhetoric and political participation of a community of Yadavs in Mathura
town, western Uttar Pradesh. The Yadavs were traditionally a low- to middle-
ranking cluster of pastoral-peasant castes that have become a significant political
force in Uttar Pradesh (and other northern states like Bihar) in the last thirty years.
The analysis of Yadav political culture involves the historical exploration of
varying local conceptions of caste, race, primordialism, socio-religious
segmentation, factionalism, history/myth, politics and democracy. Throughout the
thesis runs a concern with the elaboration of a theoretical framework which
makes sense of the transformation of the caste system, and its interrelations with
modem politics and Hinduism. It is concluded that in order to understand
contemporary processes of ethnicisation of caste, attention should be paid to
descent and kinship, and to the ways in which the ‘traditional’ caste ideology of
hierarchy has been usurped by the religious ideology of descent. The thesis
demonstrates how the successful formation of a Yadav community, and the
political activism of its members in Mathura, are partly linked to their descent
view of caste, folk theories of religious descent, horizontal caste-cluster social
organisation, marriage patterns, factionalism, and finally to their cultural
understanding of ‘the past’ and ‘the political’. It is concluded that Yadav socio­
religious organisation directly and indirectly helped the Yadav community to
adapt to the modem political world. In so doing, the political ethnography of
Mathura Yadavs sheds light on why certain groups are more apt to successfully
exert their influence within the democratic political system, and why others are
not, regardless of the fact that in many instances they have similar economic and
political incentives and resources.

1
 Contents

Acknowledgments______________________________________________ 5
Figures, maps, plates and tables___________________________________ 6
Orthography and transliteration__________________________________ 8
Glossary of Selected terms _______________________________________ 9
INTRODUCTION________________________________________________ 14
About this thesis_______________________________________________ 14
Methodology__________________________________________________ 18
Ethnographic method__________________________________________ 18
Survey method_______________________________________________ 22
Historical method_____________________________________________ 24
Chapter contents______________________________________________ 25
Chapter 1
Mapping the Yadavs* socio-economic and political spaces________________ 28
The political landscape of Uttar Pradesh state______________________ 28
Caste, elections, political parties and caste associations:
an introductory note___________________________________________ 28
Uttar Pradesh politics in the 1990s: Samajwadi Party and the rise of the
Yadavs_____________________________________________________ 31
The Yadavs’ ancestral landscape: the Braj and Ahirwal areas ________ 43
Mathura: Krishna’s ‘divine’ and ‘political’ business__________________ 48
The Yadavs’ ‘imaginary numerical strength’ in Mathura town__________ 53
The sociology of Yadav living space: Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar locality 58
Mahadev Ghat Akhara: the local Yadav ‘political’ stage______________ 70
Chapter 2
Competing Demands o f Power and Status: from ‘Ahir* to ‘Yadav*_________ 77
Introduction__________________________________________________ 77
The Ahirs: ‘ethnography’ in the archives from pre-colonial times to
Independence_________________________________________________ 80
Rajas, sepoys and cowherders: Rajput-like culture and the making of the
Ahir category________________________________________________ 81
‘Collecting the Ahirs’: official ethnographies and theories of caste______ 88
Materialist andfunctionalist ethnographic portrayals______________ 91
From Ghosi and Kamaria-Ahirs to Nandavanshi-Ahirs: processes o f
fu sio n ____________________________________________________ 93
The Yaduvanshi as the martial Ahirs:
military culture and racial theories_____________________________ 96
Yadavs and the British army: the emergence of the Ahir Kshatriya
Mahasabha______________________ 99

2
 The politics of reading and ‘re-writing’: competing demands of status and
power_______________________________________________________ 103
Reshaping primordialism______________________________________ 105
Sons of Krishna: the politics of ‘blood’ and ‘numbers’_______________ 107
Yadavs, the Other Backward Classes social category and the Yadav regiment
110
Manipulating ‘status’ in Mathura________________________________ 120
Conclusion __________________________________________________ 124
Chapter 3
The internal structure o f the Yadav caste/community and processes offusion
______________________________________________________________ 127
Introduction_________________________________________________ 127
The Ahir/Yadavs’ horizontal organisation and lineage view of caste 128
The vansh (line of descent): the Yaduvanshi, the Nandavanshi, the
Goallavanshi and the Krishnavanshi-Yadavs_____________________ 131
Locality (place and territory) and subdivisions___________________ 134
Commensality_____________________________________________ 141
Indigenous theories about Mathura Yadav subdivisions: functional
explanations and ideologies o f b lo o d __________________________ 142
Talking about vanshs and the internal social hierarchy in Ahir Para/Sadar
B azaar__________________________________________________ 146
The Krishnavanshi-Yadavs __________________________________ 148
The Clan {got)______________________________________________ 150
Lineage (parivar)____________________________________________ 153
The Chaudhri Parivar, the Dudh Parivar and the Netaji Parivar in Ahir
Para: economic graduality__________________________________ 154
Ideologies of marriage and processes of fusion_____________________ 156
Endogamy, hypergamy, exogamy: the reproduction of vanshs and the
creation of the Yadav community_______________________________ 159
Yadavs’ views about inter-caste marriages________________________ 161
Caste associations: encouraging processes of fusion_________________ 166
IntQi-vansh marriages and hypergamy____________________________ 170
Inter-state marriages, mass marriages and anti-dowry campaigns ______ 173
Conclusion __________________________________________________ 176
Chapter 4
From lineage deity to caste/community deity: gods are ancestors and ancestors
can become gods________________________________________________ 179
Introduction_________________________________________________ 179
Reformist religious processes: becoming ‘Kshatriyas who behave like
Vaishyas’____________________________________________________ 181
Superior and inferior forms of Hinduism: the issue of sacrifice________ 181
The reinforcement of the purity-pollution barrier: a‘religious’ and ‘political’
issue______________________________________________________ 186
‘We are Kshatriyas but we behave like Vaishyas’: vegetarians ‘with fighting
spirit’ _____________________________________________________ 189

3
 Ahir/Yadav ‘lineages’ and their sacred protectors___________________ 192
Ahir/Yadav kuldevtas and Kshatriya-pastoral themes________________ 194
Gods are ancestors and ancestors can become g o d s_________________ 197
The cult of Mekhasur: from hero-cowherder god to the epic Krishna 200
Mekhasur: ‘the totemic god of the Aheriya tribe’ ___________________ 201
Mekhasur’s cult in Ahir Para. The kuldevta of the ‘Dudh Parivar’ and
‘Chaudhri Parivar’ ___________________________________________ 203
Mekhasur’s shrine in Gangiri_______________________________ 208
Goverdhan Baba versus the epic Krishna_________________________ 210
C onclusion____________________________________________________ 211
Chapter 5
‘Past' and rhetoric: the political recruitment o f Krishna________________ 215
Introduction___________________________________________________ 215
The making of a Yadav past_________________________ 222
Regional martial epics, the tradition of martial folk cults and the
Mahabharata: from Ahir to Yadav_______________________________ 222
Contemporary martial heroes* tales______________________________ 227
‘History’ and ‘Mathura Hindu histories’: recuperating Krishna’s moral
integrity and masculinity______________________________________ 232
Yadav ‘historians’ and their ‘historical archives’ ___________________ 233
‘Krishna the Yadav icon’ and the Bhagavad Gita___________________ 241
Krishna ‘the democratic leader’ in Ahir Para/Sadar B azaar_________ 252
Caste publications___________________________________________ 252
Caste association meetings and political speeches__________________ 254
The Killing of Kamsa: a political performance_____________________ 258
Talking about ‘politics’, ‘corruption’ and ‘gods’____________________ 262
Conclusion ______________________ 267
Chapter 6
‘We are a caste ofpoliticiansperform ing politics_____________________ 269
Introduction___________________________________________________ 269
‘We are a caste of politicians’ _____________________________________270
‘Symbolic’ representation and ‘electoral’ representation in Ahir Para 274
Factions and rivalries 276
Rallying around the milk: the opening of the election campaign,
parliamentary elections 1999 ____________________ 277
The organisation of the strike and the Samajwadi Party______________ 279
Talking about the strike_______________________________________ 283
Caste Association and Yadav-Bania antagonism___________________287
Lok Sabha Elections 1999________________________________________ 295
Municipality elections and ‘primordial factionalism’ ________________ 297
CONCLUSION_________________________________________________ 301
Bibliography___________________________________________________ 306
Appendix______________________________________________________ 329

4
Acknowledgments

Since I started this project in 1997 I have benefited from the support and guidance
of many people, only a few of which I have space to acknowledge here. Thanks
must first of all go to the large number of friends and informants in Mathura,
Delhi and Rewari without whose support and patient cooperation this work would
not have been possible. In particular I thank Mona Garg, Shiv Kumar and their
families for their collaboration, generosity and hospitality and all the Yadavs of
Sadar Bazaar for sharing with me their lives and thoughts, thanks!
I would also like to thank all thouse who funded this research. They are listed in
the reverse order to which they were received. Radcliffe Brown Fund Award
(Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland); William Robson
Prize (London School of Economics and Political Science); British Academy
Travel Grant (British Academy); Main Grant (British Foundation for Women
Graduates), Travelling Grant (the Central Research Fund, University of London)
Rajiv Gandhi Travelling Grant (Cambridge European Trust), ESRC studenship
R00429834840 (Economic and Social Research Council) and a generous grants
from the University of Trieste, Italy.
A special ‘thank you* goes to my supervisors Christopher Fuller and Jonathan
Parry for their guidance, help and encouragement. At the LSE I thank Maurice
Bloch and the members of the thesis writing seminar, especially Kriti Kapila, Eva
Keller, Vincent Goldberg, Roseanna Pollen, Benedetta Rossi, Barbara Verardo
and Der-Ruey Yang. Parts of this thesis were also presented at the annual meeting
of the South Asian Anthropologists’ Group and at seminars at LSE and Sussex. I
thank all participants in these meetings for their useful comments and
suggestions. During my stay in India I was affiliated to the Centre for the Study of
Developing Societies (CSDS) in Delhi. Each time I returned from Mathura it was
a pleasure to work there, for it enabled me to discuss my latest findings in the
unique atmosphere of the institution; I would like to thank all the members of the
CSDS. A ‘special thanks’ to Sanjay Kumar, Ashis Nandy, Yogendra Yadav,
Chitrali Singh, V.B. Singh and Himanshu Bhattacharya. At Delhi School of
Economics I thank Andre Beteille for his helpful suggestions at the early stages of
my fieldwork. In Delhi I am also grateful to Satya Prakash Singh Yadav and his
family for their generous hospitality and help. I thank Paul Flather and his family
for providing me with a place to stay.
In Trieste, Enrico Fasana requires a special thank - both for having introduced me
to India and for much moral support over the years. In London I owe another
special thanks to Manuela Ciotti, Kriti Kapila and Edward Simpson with whom I
shared a great deal of the fieldwork and writing up experience. A big thanks goes
to Barbara Verardo for being always there when I needed support, so thanks
Barbara. Many thanks to Alice Forbess, Michael Gibson, Martin Holbraad, and
Kai Kresse for their company and encouragment. I am grateful to Maria
Phylactou for her editing work and moral support in the last phase of the writing
up. Finally, I would like to thank my parents and my ‘English’ extended family
for their support and encouragement. Oliver Heath has put up with different
phases of fieldwork and writing up related-difficulties. I thank him for his
patience and enormous help, thanks Olli.

5
Figures, maps, plates and tables

Figure 1: Vote share of the major parties in Uttar Pradesh, Vidhan Sabha,
1991-2002.
Figure 2: Vote share of the major parties in Uttar Pradesh, Lok Sabha 1991-
1999
Figure 3: Vansh distribution among Yadavs of Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar
Figure 4: Economic distribution of Yadavs, Sadar Bazaar

Map 1: Location of Uttar Pradesh in India

Map 2: Location of Mathura District in Uttar Pradesh
Map 3: Mathura district
Map 4: Braj-Ahirwal cultural area
Map 5: Mathura town, Yadav neighbourhoods
Map 6: Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar locality

Plate 1: Krishna Janmastami, Mathura (1999)

Plate 2: Dairy business, Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar
Plate 3: Transportation business, Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar
Plate 4: ‘Yadav* Sadhus, Mahadev Ghat, Mathura
Plate 5: Bodybuilders and wrestlers at Mahadev Ghat, Mathura
Plate 6: Yadav Global Forum web-page (www.yadav.com)
Plate 7: Yadav Journals (AIYM Jubilee Souvenir 1924-1999,1999)
Plate 8: Banner in commemoration of the Yadav martyrs at Kargil (AIYM
Convention, Vaishali-New Delhi, 1999)
Plate 9: Krishna-the-charioteer (Yadav Directory, Front Cover, 1992)
Plate 10: Krishna holding the Bhagavad Gita (Yadav Sansar, Front Cover,
vol. 8 2000)
Plate 11: Krishna-the-warrior (Yadava’s Living History, Front Cover, vol.l
2000)
Plate 12: Yadav Political Leaders, Chariot Procession AIYM Convention,
Surat, 1995 (Yadav Kul Dipika, January 1996).
Plate 13: All India Yadav Mahasabha Flag (AIYM Rules, 1984: 2).
Plate 14: A caste association meeting (AIYM Convention, Vaishali-New
Delhi, 1999)

6
Plate 15: Yadav political leaders at a AIYM Convention (Vaishali-New
Delhi, 1999).
Plate 16: Kamsa Festival Procession, Sadar Bazaar (1999)
Plate 17: Krishna and Balram, Kamsa Festival, Sadar Bazaar (1999)
Plate 18: The Killing of Kamsa, Sadar Bazaar
Plate 19: Krishna and Radha, (AIYM Convention, Vaishali-New Delhi,
1999).

Table 1.1: Occupation of men by generation, Sadar Bazaar

Table 1.2: Occupation of men by caste, Sadar Bazaar
Table 1.3: Education of men by caste, Sadar Bazaar
Table 1.4: Education of women by caste, Sadar Bazaar
Table 1.5: Wealth and caste in Sadar Bazaar
Table 3.1: Yadav clan distribution in Sadar Bazaar
Table 3.2: Disapproval of marriage between different religious communities,
castes and subcastes
Table 5.1: Media exposure by caste-community, Sadar Bazaar
Table 6.1: Political connections in Sadar Bazaar
Table 6.2: Political participation in Sadar Bazaar
Table 6.3: Political participation in Uttar Pradesh
Table 6.4: Political interest, Sadar Bazaar

7
Orthography and transliteration

In the transliteration of Hindi words I have given preference to the sound of the
words rather than to the rules of Sanskrit orthography. As a result, I have omitted
the final ‘a’ from a number of words. The English plural ‘s’ is often added to
Hindi words to aid the flow of the text. For words widely used in the Indological
literature and works on Hinduism however, I have chosen the textual written form
rather than the spoken one. The glossary contains the words that appear several
times in the main body of the text and for these, diacritical marks are given.
Words used infrequently are translated as they arise, and in some cases this
translation is repeated in subsequent chapters to aid the reader.

8
Glossary of Selected terms

GLOSSARY

adharma unrighteousness, immorality

akhara wrestling school
allah story in the form of ballad
alah alcove
avarna outside vama hierarchy
avatar the incarnation of a deity (especially Vishnu)
baba respected man, used also to refer to a Sadhu or holy
man
badmash a person with loose moral character
bareja ti big castes (refers to upper castes)
bagica garden
bal physical strength, brute force
bali sacrifice, especially animal sacrifice
blr deified hero (also vh), warrior
bhagat devotee, a vaishnava ascetic, medium
Bhagavad Gita Song of the Lord, celebrated section of the
Mahabharata, Book 6.
Bhagavatapurana 10* century Purana, about the life of Krishna
bhagwan god
bhakti devotion, love (especially for a deity)
bhang a concoction made from marijuana leaves, mixed
with milk, sugar, almonds and spices
bhavan public building, palace
bhrashtachar corruption
bhopa ascetic
Brajbhasa dialect spoken in the area of Braj
Brajbasi inhabitant of Braj
capattl bread
caudhn headman
chandravamg the line of the moon
chopsja ti small (low) caste

9
cor thief
dudh milk
dalal middle man
dangal wrestling tournament
dar£an sight, vision of deity or image
dargah tomb of saint (Muslim)
devT goddess
dharma religious and moral duty
dharamshala rest house for pilgrims
dil heart
gap gossip
gap-gap to gossip
gan-vala conductor, driver
gauna cerimonial
gayatn mantra sacred formula
ghi clarified butter
ghat a segment of river frontage
ghosi cowherd, milkman, a man of the Ghosi community
ghus bribe
gonda gangster/muscleman (throughout the text goonda)
gopT cowherdess and lover of Krishna
gopa protector of cows
goshala cow protection shelter
got clan, an exogamous kinship group
gumbad a cupola, dome-shaped figure
halwal sweet-maker
hukka a water tobacco pipe
itihas history
izzat honour, prestige, reputation
jaga genealogist
jajm anl system of patron-client relations
janmabhumi birthplace
janmastaml the birthday of Krishna
ja ti caste
jativad casteism

10
kacca khana boiled food consumed within the family and with
caste members
katha story
krore ten million (in the text crore)
Krsna eighth avatar of Vishnu (Krishna throughout the
text)
Krsnavamd the dynasty of Krishna
khlr rice pudding like drink
ku l lineage, tribe, community
kuldevT clan or family female deity
kuldevta clan or family male deity
kusthl competitive wrestling
lakh one hundred thousand
Lok Sabha parliament
lila divine plays
laddu flower sweets often used as prasad
lakh one hundred thousand
lathi bamboo stick
lingam phallic form of Lord Shiva
Mahabharata longer of the two great Hindu epics
man-samman dignity
murti statue, image of god
mela fair
mohalla neighbourhood
mundan shaving ceremony
Nandavams the dynasty of Nanda
neta political leader
pahalwan wrestlers
puja worship
pakka khana cooked or fried food normally served at feasts
panchayat council
panda pilgrimage or temple priest
parampara tradition
parda veil, seclusion, avoidance behaviour especially of
married women
pargana subordinate unit in revenue administration

11
parivar family (also lineage)
pet womb
prasad blessed food given to the worshippers after puja has
taken place
Purana myth (or collection of myths) about deities
purnima the night of the day of full moon
rahan-sahan lifestyle
raj kingdom
sabha association
sadhu ascetic
samadhi shrines dedicated to ascetics
samaj community and society
samajwadi socialist
samman respect, honour
sammelan association, meeting, convention
sampraday tradition, religious order (or sect) following its own
tradition
sarkar State
shakti divine power
sudarsan cakr name of the circular weapon or discus of Vishnu-
Krishna
suryavamg the dynasty of the sun
svarup essential form of a deity
svabhiman self-respect
tapasya ascetism
tappa cluster of villages acknowledging the supremacy of
one among them
tasla a brass or iron vessel
thana police station
ustad guru, teacher, one who is proficient in a particular
art or skill
Vaisnava worshipper of Vishnu (in the text Vaishnava)
varna one of the four social classes (Brahmans,
Kshatriyas, Vaishyas and Shudras)
vlrya manliness, heroism; mail seed, semen
vamsa {bams) line of descent (in the text vansti)
videghl foreign
vikas development
virah separation, loneliness, typical Ahir songs (in the
text viraha)
Yagya-havan Vedic fire sacrifice
Yamuna with the Ganges one of the two great sacred rivers
that flows eastward across the plains of North India.
zamlndar landlord

13
INTRODUCTION

About this thesis

This thesis is an ethnographic exploration of the emergence of a community and

ethnicised political unit in relation to the politicisation of caste and religion in a
North Indian town. Caste and politics have been a recurring theme in
anthropological studies in India (Srinivas 1962). Most of the literature on the
topic was written, however, between the 1950s and 1970s in the years following
Independence. This thesis reflects a renewed anthropological interest in exploring
how caste is responding to recent political changes in the Indian political climate.
In the 1980s and 1990s two major novel political trends developed: the upsurge of
Hindu nationalism (van der Veer 1994; Jaffrelot 1996; Hansen 1999) and the
political mobilisation of lower castes (Y. Yadav 1997; Hasan 2000). It is on the
latter phenomenon that this work particularly focuses. Political scientists have
long been concerned to explain the ‘anomalous’ social profile of politically active
citizens in contemporary India. In contrast to the West, it is in fact the historically
disadvantaged groups who are more likely to vote than their well-educated and
wealthy counterparts (Y. Yadav 1997; 2000). Similarly, whereas in the West
turnout has been declining for some years, this is not the case in India.

With the aim of contributing to a better understanding of the unique Indian

experience of popular democracy at the local level, in this thesis I examine how
specific primordial loyalties encourage participatory democratic processes, and
how the latter reshape caste/community identities. In particular, through
ethnographic accounts of everyday politics from a neighbourhood in Mathura
town, western Uttar Pradesh on the one hand, and of the role of caste associations
and political parties on the other, I attempt to illustrate the dynamics and
complexity of the process of politicisation of caste (Kothari 1970).

This investigation is carried out through an analysis of the culture of

political participation of the Yadavs, traditionally a low- to middle-ranking cluster
of agricultural-pastoral castes. In the last thirty years, the Yadavs have become a

14
significant political force in Uttar Pradesh and other northern states (like Bihar).
In Mathura, Yadavs are also extremely politically active and organised. Mathura
town lies about one hundred miles south of New Delhi, in the so-called Braj area
of western Uttar Pradesh. This area is well known as the mythical homeland of
the god Krishna who is considered the ancestor of the contemporary Yadavs. A
specific folk descent theory legitimises the formation of the Yadav community.
Accordingly, all pastoral castes of India are said to descend from the Yadu
dynasty (hence the label Yadav) to which Krishna (a cowherder and a prince by
legend) belonged. In Mathura, the Yadav community traditionally inhabits three
neighbourhoods: Anta Para, Sathgara and Ahir Para. The bulk of ethnography
presented in this work comes from the neighbourhood of Ahir Para and the
surrounding locality of Sadar Bazaar and Civil Lines.

More specifically, this thesis tells the story of how the members of the
Ahir pastoral caste who reside in the Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar locality have
become ‘Yadavs’. By covering a time-span of one hundred years (1880s-1990s),
it highlights the social, religious and political transformations that such a passage
has entailed. This exercise is conducted through an ethno-historical exploration of
Ahir/Yadav ‘political’ performances in the public and ‘democratic’ arenas. Yadav
‘political’ representation has been historically enacted by means of petitions, caste
publications, oral epics, political speeches, rituals, violence, political rallies,
elections, protests, contested religious shrines and strikes. These public
representations are framed by the organisational abilities of the Yadav caste
associations and in more recent times by the Yadav-dominated Samajwadi
(Socialist) Party. The central theme of the thesis is, therefore, the study of
‘Yadav’ political rhetoric, and how this political discourse has historically been
articulated, assimilated and contested by the Ahir/Yadavs of the Braj-Ahirwal
area in general and by the inhabitants of the Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar locality in
particular.

In sum, the political ethnography of the Yadavs of Ahir Para/Sadar

Bazaar, together with the anthropological exploration of the politicisation of caste
beyond the domain of electoral politics, provide an understanding of how colonial
and post-colonial government classifications, democratic processes and the socio­
cultural constitution of a community can inform political participation.

15
 The political ethnography of Mathura Yadavs thereby sheds light on why
certain groups are more apt to successfully exert their influence within the
democratic political system, and why others are not, regardless of the fact that in
many instances they have similar economic and political incentives and resources.
More specifically, the thesis demonstrates how a successful internalisation of
‘Yadav’ political rhetoric and hence the political mobilisation and participation of
local Yadavs are partly linked to their descent view of caste, horizontal caste-
cluster type of social organisation, marriage patterns, factionalism, and finally to
their cultural understanding of ‘the past’ and ‘the political’. I suggest that this
cultural perspective, which also finds its roots in Ahir/Yadav traditional folk
theories of religious descent, has significantly contributed to the political success
of the Yadav community in Uttar Pradesh.

Thus, this work analyses issues concerning political change in relation to

classical questions about caste. Importantly, throughout the thesis runs a concern
with the elaboration of a theoretical framework which makes sense of the
transformation of the caste system and its interrelations with modem politics and
Hinduism. It is concluded that in order to make sense of the contemporary
processes of the ethnicisation of caste (Barnett 1975: 158-59; Fuller 1996: 22-23)
attention should also be paid to descent and kinship (Kolenda 1978) and to the
ways the traditional ideology of hierarchy (Dumont 1970) has been usurped by
the religious ideology of descent. Paramount to Yadav caste/community
formation and political mobilisation is a discourse of religious descent centred on
Krishna symbolism and history.

Although my starting point concerns a particular community, and the

thesis is essentially ethnographic, the theoretical concerns of this work have wider
ramifications and attempt to generate a more general argument concerning the
logics of democracy, religion, primordial loyalties and political participation in
post-colonial countries. There is a need to re-focus attention on the ways
democracy is perceived and reworked in different socio-cultural and religious
settings (see Spencer 1997) as well as on the ways politics actually operates on
the ground (Hansen 2001: 232).

Despite recent anthropological interest in ethnographies of the state in

India (A. Gupta 1995; Brass 1997; Fuller and Harriss 2000; Hansen and Stepputat

16
2001), ‘democracy’ has not been a common topic of study amongst
anthropologists of South Asia. Exceptions are the important contributions made
by a number of works that explore the ways in which formal democracy actually
works in India (see Bailey 1963a; Kothari 1970; Carter 1974; Robinson 1988).
And of course studies of caste have been concerned with the effects of democratic
ideas upon its politicisation (Hardgrave 1969; Lynch 1969; Fox 1969). However,
issues like elections and democracy are rarely discussed in anthropological studies.
In a provocative article Spencer considers ‘the rise and fall of political anthropology
in the context of the global shift from colonial to post-colonial rule’ (1997: 1). He
argues that the anthropological study of ‘modem’ values and institutions has been
neglected due to their presumed ‘transparency ’ and ‘foreign ’ origin. Accordingly,
since ‘democracy’, ‘political parties’, ‘elections’ and ‘the state’ originate elsewhere,
namely in the West, their interpretation in post-colonial states has been considered
essentially similar to those in the West. It follows that this ‘excess of certainty’
(ibid.: 13) has discouraged the anthropological study of democracy, and the way in
which the institutional framework of democracy as well as ideas about democracy
itself are differently informed by different socio-cultural settings has been left
unexplored.

Hence, the political ethnography of the Yadavs of Mathura contributes to

the limited empirical literature that investigates the question of different cross-
cultural understandings of ‘democracy’ and the role of primordial loyalties in
modem political institutions. It primarily provides empirical data on the
motivation of individuals and the circumstances in which they are more or less
likely to participate in the modem political process. Furthermore, it explores ‘the
political’ in areas which are not thought of as political per se. It is in these
particular spheres (for example family, kinship, popular religion, leisure
activities...) that anthropologists can best contribute to the understandings of
democratic macro structures and their effects on ordinary people.

By linking micro-level data to macro issues, this study also has the
potential to broaden the focus of existing research on the politics of religion and
ethnicity and on patterns of electoral politics. More importantly, it provides
interpretations based on the kind of detailed qualitative empirical research that is
largely absent in the academic and policy-making sectors with respect to issues of

17
politics and democracy. For example, the work sheds light on certain sensitive
topics including the function of local political networks and hierarchies, election
malpractices and corruption, clientalism and feud-like conflicts. The findings will
hopefully help to influence future research agendas and feed into national and
international debates on the conditions under which democracy, political rhetoric
and political participation work on the ground.

Methodology

As will be evident in the following chapters, although this work is predominantly

based on ethnographic material and on interviews with political leaders, political
activists, city and district political and governmental representatives, religious
leaders, businessmen, local ‘historians’ and intellectuals, it also draws upon a
variety of other sources: archives, official publications, caste literature, political
parties’ publications, religious texts, newspapers, books, surveys and so on. In
particular this work combines ethnographic, quantitative and historical research
techniques.

Ethnographic method

I lived for twenty months (August 1998-March 2000) in the Ahir Para/Sadar
Bazaar locality on the outskirts of the old part of Mathura town. I learnt the
vernacular language (Hindi) and participated in the day-to-day life of a local
Yadav community. I documented their everyday life through field-notes and
photographs and integrated ‘participant observation’ with in-depth individual
interviews about specific topics such as kinship, politics, religion and economics.

The choice of studying a locality is based on particular methodological

considerations. A study of politics through ‘participant observation’ in an urban
setting can only be done by focusing on a particular urban lived space which
constitutes a political and an administrative unit as well as ‘a space where people
live, experience and seek to produce their own world’ (Hansen 2001: 13). Many
scholars have described the neighbourhood (mohalla, para) in Indian towns as

18
spaces with defined social boundaries whose residents share values and
behaviours (Kumar 1988; Molund 1988; Lynch 1969). Accordingly, a mohalla is
a source of self-identification for its inhabitants and this manifests itself in terms
of popular activities such as celebrations, festivals, political affiliations, protests
and so on. Thus, a neighbourhood is said to provide an important opportunity to
analyse the intertwining of cultural activities and local social and political
organisations (see Freitag 1989). However, as Hansen points out, relations in
urban areas are not bounded or defined by physical localities in the same way as
in rural areas (2001: 13; see also Vatuk 1972). In urban spaces social boundaries
are more difficult to ‘fix’ and accordingly the boundaries of mohallas and paras
are difficult to map.

My focus is on the neighbourhood of Ahir Para. Ahir Para is part of Sadar

Bazaar which lies on the outskirts of the old part of Mathura. Sadar Bazaar is like
a small town in itself and it is seen as Mathura Yadav ‘urban territory*. It is
composed of different mohallas which are caste specific. However, in Sadar
Bazaar Yadavs densely inhabit not only their ‘traditional’ neighbourhood, Ahir
Para, but also parts of the neighbouring mohallas. To say, therefore, that this
study focuses on the Yadavs of a particular neighbourhood is simplistic. The
social field of my study is a locality which although centred in a particular para
(Ahir Para) comprises different neighbourhoods. Moreover, the area inhabited by
Yadavs corresponds to four municipality wards: Ward 2, Ward 4, Ward 10 and
Ward 15. In order to socially map this space I employed the standard sociological
survey method and collected data on the socio-demographic composition of the
locality through genealogies. Moreover, I undertook a wide range of
conversations with members of different communities and gathered information
about who lives where, about the composition of the different communities and
their socio-religious spaces.

It is within this mapped locality that I studied how supra-local economic

and political networks manifest themselves in the day-to-day life of ordinary
Yadavs. In particular I observed how Yadavs’ newly acquired political power at
the macro-level had consequences not only in terms of the redistribution of power
at state and national level, but also had implications for the ideas of ordinary
Yadavs with regard to their community and their day-to-day lives.

19
 To study politics and political processes through the method of
ethnography meant both to observe ‘the political’ as performed in the public
arena, and to develop a detailed knowledge of the kinship, religious and economic
worlds of ‘the performers’. Following Hansen, the central focus of observation for
my political ethnography was the Yadavs’ ‘mundane forms of politics’ (2001:
232). The Yadavs of Mathura, throughout the twenty months of my stay, were
exceptional ‘performers’. Their imaginative political strategies never ceased to
surprise me, and effectively yielded them ‘visibility, public resources and
recognition of their demands and identity’ (Hansen 2001: 230). Data on their
kinship, religious and economic networks and values were of primary importance
to understand Yadav political success and the gradual consolidation of an all-
India Yadav community.

Throughout my fieldwork local Yadavs attempted to include me in their

continuous public ‘acts of representation*. My arrival in Mathura was marked by
the publication of numerous articles in the local vernacular press which
announced the arrival of an Italian scholar from England who came to study and
live with ‘the famous and valorous’ Yadav community.1 Later I came to know
that within hours of my arrival in Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar, the local Yadav caste
association had sent a press release to the local and regional newspapers. As a
result my first three days in Mathura were characterised by a procession of Yadav
visitors who came from other localities of Mathura town and nearby villages to
welcome me. My arrival was thus soon transformed into a political performance.
After a few weeks a picture of me entering Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar appeared in
various local Yadav caste association magazines and newsletters. In these
publications the caste title Yadav was often suffixed to my surname. Throughout
my fieldwork I was asked to deliver speeches at local and regional Yadav caste
association meetings and to ‘help’ during election campaigns. Needless to say,
maintaining a neutral and ethical position was a complex issue.

I always avoided delivering speeches, writing in local Yadav magazines,

and taking sides with a particular faction or political group. However, while I
could pay attention to avoiding and minimising my physical ‘participation’ in

1See for example Aj, 18 August 1998.

20
Yadav ‘political’ representations, it was more difficult to maintain my neutrality
whenever I ethically disapproved of what I had to observe and hear. One cannot
remain purely neutral when witnessing violence and usurpations.

In particular I found it difficult to live in the highly factionalised and

violent world of the local Yadav community. In order to maintain an impartial
position, and hence access to the different Yadav factions, during my fieldwork I
lived in two different places. This choice matured after a couple of months of
fieldwork and the realisation of the endemic factionalism and tensions present in
the community. I rented a house in the Sadar Bazaar/Civil Lines locality from a
non-Yadav landlord and a room in the centre of Ahir Para with a Yadav family. In
the latter setting I had access to the social world of the ‘Chaudhri Parivar’, which
represents one of the largest and politically powerful Yadav lineages of Sadar
Bazaar; while in the former, members of other Yadav factions, castes and
religious communities felt comfortable to visit me. Moreover, these double living
arrangements prevented me from being too closely associated with a particular
Yadav faction and, to some extent, with the Yadav community in general. Even if
this study is essentially about the Yadav community, the data on which it is based
have not been collected in an isolationist fashion and they reflect inter-caste and
inter-community relations.

As will become evident in the following chapters, the bulk of

ethnographic data presented in this thesis were collected in ‘private’ and ‘public’
spaces where women, most of the time, were not allowed to be present. Most
Yadav women in Sadar Bazaar/Ahir Para live in parda. Yadav houses are divided
into female and male quarters. Women rarely mix with male guests, and, if they
do, it is only with close family friends. Therefore, every Yadav event that I
attended was really two events: the men gathered in one part of the house and the
women in another. On most of these occasions my research interests led me to
spend time in men’s company. In the case of public events I did not have the
choice of whether to spend time with men or with women.

Women were peripheral to the public political culture of the

neighbourhood. From 1996, two of the municipality wards, which include the
Sadar Bazaar/Ahir Para locality, were reserved for women. The representative of
Ward 3 is ‘Bola Yadav’s wife’, as local people refer to her. However if you ask

21
anybody in Sadar Bazaar who is the representative of Ward 3, the answer will be
Bola Yadav. His wife does not have an active public role. This is also the case for
the majority of women in the neighbourhood. As a consequence, my fieldwork
took place mainly in a ‘male’ environment. I often participated and observed
activities that would not have been considered ‘proper’ for any Yadav woman.

Most of the time, the Yadavs of Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar treated me as they
would have treated a man. However, their flexibility also had some limits. For
example, I was not allowed to wrestle or participate in male gatherings like the
‘chicken and whisky barbeques’ that took place in the evenings on the banks of
the Yamuna. Even if I was often invited to these, and other, activities, people
expected me to politely refuse their invitation. Despite the fact that as a woman I
could not be present at events of this type, I suspect that on the whole my gender
facilitated the collection of political data. Male informants did not perceive my
presence as threatening, as they would have done if I were a man. They did not
feel in competition with me and they talked freely in my presence about ‘political
matters’.

Whenever possible I followed the social, religious and political networks

of the local Yadavs outside the social field of Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar/Civil Lines
locality, letting local Yadavs guide the research from the micro- to the macro­
levels (Mathura town, Mathura districts, Uttar Pradesh, Delhi...). Equally
important settings of the research were also the neighbourhoods of Sathgara and
Anta Para in Mathura’s old town; Ahir/Yadav villages in Mathura district and in
Ahirwal; and finally the headquarters of the All-India Yadav Mahasabha and
Samajwadi Party in Delhi. I observed Yadav caste association meetings in
Haryana, Delhi, Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh and Kerala. In these settings I had the
opportunity of meeting Yadav activists from other states and collecting
information about ‘Yadavs’ in other localities.

Survey method

Throughout my research I have been interested in bridging local level political

analysis with politics at higher levels. This approach led me to integrate

22
ethnographic and qualitative research techniques with quantitative methods. I
believe that no single method can resolve the complex issues involved in the
study of politics and political behaviour. My political ethnography has been
complemented by a survey on political behavior. I conducted this survey in
collaboration with the Centre for the Study of Developing Societies (CSDS) after
the 1999 parliamentary election. The fieldwork period coincided with that of the
National Election Study 1999 carried out by the CSDS. Moreover, there is
additional overlap between the two surveys, as most of the political questions
were similarly worded, thus making comparisons between the surveys more
compatible.

The aim of the Mathura survey was to interview a cross-section of

inhabitants of voting age from Sadar Bazaar, Mathura. We considered various
sampling strategies before deciding upon a stratified quota selection procedure.
We opted for the quota selection rather than a probability-based selection
procedure because we were keen to ensure a representative distribution of the
different castes and communities present in Sadar Bazaar. A purely random
sample might have meant that only Yadavs were interviewed. To ensure that other
communities were also included it was therefore necessary to include some
preliminary screening. We set loose quotas for caste, community and age. The
survey also included detailed questions about household finances (see Appendix
I). This meant we had to interview the household reference person, who was
usually male. There is, therefore, an over-representation of men in the sample. In
order to reduce the bias that this would cause, we also included a small boost
sample of women for comparison. Moreover, we also collected demographic
information on all household members. A small-scale pilot survey was carried out
between the 1 and 10 September 1999 to test a draft of the questionnaire and
modifications were made out as a result. The main fieldwork was conducted
between 19 September and 6 October 1999. The fieldwork period followed the
voting for the Lok Sabha elections, but began before the results were announced.
In all, 225 respondents were interviewed. Of these, 175 were married, and
additional questions were asked about their spouse. The survey thus comprises
three separate samples which are reported in the tables: the full sample (all
respondents = 225 cases), the male sample (all male respondents and all husbands

23
of female respondents = 218 cases) and the female sample (all female respondents
and all wives of male respondents =173 cases). Table entries are rarely based on
all the cases, as some respondents were either unable to answer some of the
questions, or provided incomplete answers. Missing values are reported where
appropriate.

Historical method

Historical sources complement and enrich the data collected through

ethnographic/qualitative techniques and quantitative methods. The importance of
history for a complex understanding of the ‘here and now’ has been widely
acknowledged (Evans-Pritchard 1961; Cohn 1990; Das 1995; Gow 2001). In the
specific case of the study of caste, many have pointed out how the exploration of
colonial caste historiographies and ‘official’ ethnographies are valuable sources
which can be used to infer, among other things, ‘indigenous modes of identity’
and past views of caste (Robb 1995: 51; S. Bayly 1995,1999). Opposite positions
are also powerfully argued (Raheja 1999a, 1999b; Bates 1995). Usually, these
points of view are centrally based on the invention-of-caste argument (Dirks
2001). This position claims that colonial orientalism massively shaped caste.
Accordingly, colonial ethnographic descriptions are considered biased and hence
not apt to disclose nineteenth-century views of caste and social organisation (see
Raheja 1999a). As Robb has pointed out, ‘... current worries about the
construction of discourse inhibit the full use of sources. To an historian the bias of
past records does not form an insuperable obstacle to interpretation, any more
than do the assumptions and priorities of present-day social scientists’ (1995: 52).

The present work recognises the value of colonial historiographies of

caste. It considers them an important source to understand present manifestations
of caste. However, in line with Gow’s methodological argument concerning the
relation between history and ethnography (2001: 19-28), I suggest that the process
of the reinterpretation of colonial sources relating to caste (and historical sources
in general) can only be fruitful if pursued in the light of a significant present
anthropological knowledge of the community portrayed in the historical
documentation. It is precisely with the coordination of present ethnographic data

24
and historical sources that anthropology and history can effectively enrich the
understanding of contemporary phenomena. More specifically, ‘an
anthropological analysis that uses historical methods must start from ethnography
and from the problems ethnography presents’ (ibid.: 20). Accordingly, Gow
argues that ‘we must first produce a general account, rooted in ethnographic
description and analysis, of what we would expect to find within it (the archive).
Only then can the archive start to speak to us of what we hope to find there’
(2001: 23, my emphasis). Fortunately, Ahir/Yadavs have been, and are, the
subjects of a rich documentary archive produced on the one hand by colonial and
post-colonial ethnographers and government officers, and on the other by Yadav
‘historians’ and ‘ethnographers’. In particular, I regard as important sources the
documentation left by the Ahir/Yadav caste associations and Yadav social and
political reformers (e.g. petitions, memoranda, speeches, minutes of meetings and
caste association literature).

The critical analysis of these sources is relevant for an understanding of

caste/community formation. In particular, their exploration provides the
opportunity to understand if what I recorded in Mathura in the late 1990s should
be interpreted as evidence of structural changes in the caste system or as a simple
reproduction of past social structures. More specifically, the historical method
helps to shed light on how ‘modem’ or ‘traditional’ is the current Yadav process
of ethnicisation.

Chapter contents

The argument presented in this thesis is cumulatively constructed throughout the

six chapters. Chapter 1 maps the political and social spaces within which the story
told in this work takes place. It also highlights the political and economic
circumstances which provide the incentives for the politicisation of the Yadavs of
Uttar Pradesh. Chapter 2 seeks to understand how the situation I found amongst
Mathura Yadavs in the late 1990s came into being historically. This involves
exploring the impact of administrative caste forms of social classification and
‘official’ ethnography on the construction of the Yadav community in the last one

25
hundred years. A critical exploration of Ahir/Yadav caste historiography is
provided. When aligned with my contemporary ethnography, this ethno-historical
exploration reveals how important the Ahir/Yadavs’ descent view of caste has
been (and is) in the creation of a Yadav community and in its political
mobilisation. In particular it shows how a specific Ahir/Y adav folk theory of
religious descent has informed the ways Yadav intellectuals, politicians and social
reformers have read and manipulated government classifications and then shaped
their community. Hence, the chapter shows how the refashioning of Yadav
community boundaries, despite being based on the selective appropriation of
colonial theories of caste and forms of social classification, is strictly interlinked
with indigenous folk models of social categorisation and kinship.

The next four chapters are all concerned in one way or another with the
ethnographic exploration of the modem refashioning of the Ahir/Y adavs’ folk
theory of religious descent and its representation in the political arena. They
investigate, on the one hand, how this folk theory informs transformations in
Yadav kinship and religious systems and, on the other, how it re-shapes the ways
local ordinary Yadavs view themselves in ‘history’ and understand ‘the political’.
In many ways, these chapters illustrate ethnographically issues that Chapter 2
unfolded through an ethno-historical perspective. In particular, they explore how
the ‘tribal qualities’ of the Ahir/Yadav kinship system, recorded in pre-colonial
and early colonial times, are still resilient and have found a new vitality in a
‘modem’ society that recognises difference and cultural distinctiveness rather
than the language of the religious ideology of hierarchy as an acceptable
manifestation of caste.

More specifically, Chapter 3 describes the internal community

organisation of the Ahir/Yadavs, and the peculiarities of the Yadav segmentary
system. It then shows how different Yadav subdivisions are merging into a unique
kinship unit: the Krishnavanshi-Yadav; and how this development mirrors
changes in marriage patterns promoted both by Yadav caste associations as well
as by ‘traditional’ hypergamous marriage patterns. Following on, Chapter 4
explores the ‘religious’ dimension of the process of expansion of the local
Ahir/Yadav units of endogamy. It illustrates how Ahir/Y adav internal processes
of fusion are accompanied by a gradual substantialisation of the Ahir/Yadav

26
Hindu pantheon: Krishna has progressively become the main god as well as the
main ancestor. Such a process is accompanied by the adoption of Sanskritic forms
of Hinduism which has transformed the different Ahir/Y adav subdivisions
(Nandavanshi, Goallavanshi and Yaduvanshi) into superior ‘Krishnavanshi’
Yadavs. The encompassing Krishna tale legitimates the equality of all members
and expresses it through the religious language of descent.

Having contextualised the relation between kinship and religious

transformations within the process of Yadav community formation and its
politicisation, Chapter 5 shows how a specific ‘caste-view o f ‘democracy” is
successfully deployed and performed in the political arena and simultaneously
used to reinforce a sense of Yadav commonality. Paramount to this idiom is the
language of ‘religious descent’. Yadav political rhetoric depicts the god-ancestor
Krishna as muscular ‘socialist’ politician, and ‘ordinary’ Yadavs as ‘natural
politicians’. By ‘linking’ Krishna mytho-history with the modem democratic
political world it supports Yadav political interests and the construction of an all-
India Yadav community. Chapter 6 concentrates on the ethnography of ‘existing
politics’ in Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar. The chapter explores how local Yadavs
conceive ‘the political’ and what it means for them ‘to do politics’. It explores
how ‘political’ skills are perceived as ‘innate’ and how local Yadavs depict
themselves as a ‘caste of politicians’. It highlights the cultural peculiarity of
Indian democracy, the importance of primordial loyalties and of the language of
religion in modem Indian politics. Finally, it illustrates how the high political
participation recorded amongst the Yadavs of Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar is partly
rooted in their endemic factionalism.

27
 Chapter 1
Mapping the Yadavs’ socio-economic and political
spaces

This chapter provides a brief background to the socio-economic and political

landscape that frames the bulk of research undertaken in this thesis. The first
section explores the political history of Uttar Pradesh. It describes the main
political changes that have occurred in the last twenty years and highlights how
they have affected the formation of the Yadav community in Uttar Pradesh and
Mathura town. The second part describes the Braj and Ahirwal cultural regions,
Mathura town, and finally the Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar locality.

The political landscape of Uttar Pradesh state

The story told in this thesis is interlinked with the recent political history of Uttar
Pradesh and the major role caste has had in shaping the Indian political landscape
during the last twenty years. Many have illustrated the dramatic upsurge in
political participation in North India (Y. Yadav 1997). This rise is more marked
amongst the ‘underprivileged’ castes and class sections of the society. Moreover,
citizens are politically mobilised under banners of ethnicity, caste and religion
(Hasan 2000: 147). Before exploring U.P. politics and the importance of caste in
determining its political landscape I briefly illustrate the relation between caste,
caste associations, political parties and elections and thus provide a general
background to the following discussions.

Caste, elections, political parties and caste associations: an

introductory note

One of the most significant changes brought about by Independence was the creation
of one complete nationwide structure of government: from national level to state,

28
district, block, town and village levels. Today, besides the bicameral national
parliament, the Lok Sabha, each state has a legislative assembly. In the 1960s, a
further “democratic decentralisation” occurred at the local level (Brass 1968:
114). In the specific case of Uttar Pradesh, by 1961 a three-tier structure was
introduced within each district: the local village panchayats, the kshetra samitis
(block development committees) and the zila parishad (district boards). Although
the village panchayat is directly elected by the villagers, the higher bodies are
composed of indirectly elected members, government appointees, and Members
of Parliament (MPs) and Members of the Legislative Assembly (MLAs) from the
area. A proportional quota of legislative seats at national as well as at state level is
reserved for members of the Scheduled Castes (SCs) and Scheduled Tribes (STs),
but not for members of the Other Backward Classes (OBCs).

The introduction of the modem political machinery gave rise to new

dynamics in the traditional political structure and created caste political groupings
(see Assayag 1995). It has often been pointed out that ‘traditional institutions’ like
caste served as a vehicle for modem functions (Rudolph and Rudolph 1967).
Following Independence, local castes, lineage groups and communal units began
to have a major role in determining electoral alliances and enmities (Srinivas
1962). Caste started to provide an extensive basis for the organisation of democratic
politics (Kothari 1970; Beteille 1969; Frankel and Rao 1989). It shaped political
behaviour by influencing political party organisation, by determining the members
of the Government and by informing the social structure of the administrative
system both at the macro and local level. More specifically, after Independence, the
locally ‘dominant castes’ transformed the patron-client relations (jajmani) with other
castes into a vote bank through ‘vertical mobilisation’ (Rudolph and Rudolph 1967).
In so doing political parties put together coalitions of upper and lower castes. The
Congress party was the classic example of this strategy. By the late 1960s, electoral
mobilisation had led to the new phenomenon called ‘horizontal mobilisation’

2The policy of reservation aimed to uplift the former untouchables (SCs), the tribal
groups (STs) and a less specified group of low caste people (Other Backward Classes).
The policy consists of reserving a quota for government jobs, places in educational
institutions and seats in parliamentary assemblies for castes which are socially and
educationally backward.

29
whereby people situated at comparable levels within the local caste hierarchy came
together into caste associations and caste federations (see Mitra 1994; Shah 1975;
Lobo 1989; Jaffrelot 2000).

Today, political parties tend to mobilise support from members of

caste/communities. Caste politicisation is generally correlated with the occurrence
of the following political strategies: caste members vote en bloc for a candidate of
the same or different caste, either in pursuance of the decision of the caste
panchayat or of the caste association; the selection of the candidate for a
constituency is based on whether he/she will be able to get the support of a
particular caste or castes; and finally when a single caste is not likely to be
effective, alliances are formed on caste basis by the candidate or by the voters.
Dipankar Gupta has pointed out the ‘limits of caste arithmetic’ and what he calls
‘the presumption of numbers’ (2000: 149). He has argued against the assumption
that political success in India depends primarily on the caste composition of the
individual constituencies (ibid.: 149). Accordingly, he points out how the
organisational ability of a caste is far more important than its numbers. In the
following sections Dipankar Gupta’s point will be explored through the lens of
Yadav ethnography and proved partly valid. However, long hours spent at
political party headquarters at pre-election campaigning times taught me that
politicians are obsessed with ‘caste’ and with ‘numbers’. At the end of the day, in
my experience candidate selections in Uttar Pradesh are most of the time purely
based on caste and arithmetic, and this is because numbers count. This is also
evident from the emphasis that caste associations put on the construction of larger
and larger communities by encouraging processes of fusion or alliances with
similar subcastes and castes.

Contemporary caste associations are administrative and political units. They

have offices, publications and legislative processes expressed through conferences,
delegates and resolutions. They are interest groups in the sense that ‘they are
oriented to secure economic benefits, jobs or special concessions, or for tie more
clearly political purpose of uniting to fight the hegemony of the ‘‘upper castes’” or the
“ruling caste” or bargaining with the political party of government, but in all cases
for one or more specific purposes’ (Beteille 1967: 123). Caste associations have
attempted to have their members nominated for elective office, working through

30
existing parties or forming their own parties, to maximise their caste’s representation
and influence in state cabinets and lower governing bodies. These organisations
have thus contributed significantly to the success of political democracy by
providing bases for communication, representation and leadership (K.Verma 1979).

By the 1980s horizontal groups have increasingly been mobilised by

parties, which appear to have substantially undermined the vertical model based
on patron-client relations. These parties concentrate instead on mobilising the
lower castes against the upper castes, attacking the vertical hierarchy of the Hindu
social order and demanding a greater share of political power. The Janata Dal, the
Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP) and the Samajwadi Party (SP) are the best examples
of this newer ‘horizontal mobilisation’ in northern India.

Uttar Pradesh politics in the 1990s: Samajwadi Party and the rise
of the Yadavs

The state of Uttar Pradesh with its 140 million people, located in the Hindi
heartland, is one of the most backward in India in terms of social-economic
conditions (see Map 1 and Map 2). However, since the late nineteenth century
Uttar Pradesh has been the nerve centre of Indian politics (see Hasan 1989). By
having a 1/6 share of the members of Parliament, the state occupies a central
position in the calculation of all the national Indian political parties. In the 1999
Lok Sabha elections, 85 of the total of 545 seats were in Uttar Pradesh. Besides
its political importance, Uttar Pradesh is also the site where an effective and
powerful challenge to upper caste political domination is taking place. In addition,
it is one of the states where Hindu nationalism has been highly supported
throughout the 1990s. As Hasan suggests: ‘the way in which conflicts between
castes and communities are played out in U.P. will influence the course of
democratic politics in north India and alter the ways of wresting and sustaining
political power at the national level’ (2000: 148).

3 In November 2000, after my fieldwork had been completed, the separate state of
Uttaranchal was carved out of Uttar Pradesh. The revised number of seats in Uttar
Pradesh at the national level is now 80.

31
Map 1: Uttar Pradesh in India

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32
Map 2: Uttar Pradesh, district map

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33
From Independence to the mid-1970s, Congress dominated the political arena of
Uttar Pradesh by forging a coalition of higher and lower castes (Brahmans,
Muslims and Scheduled Castes). Its leadership was generally monopolised by the
former. Thereafter, thanks to the Green Revolution, the Yadavs, together with
other castes like Kurmi, Jat and other backward castes backed by socialist leaders,
began to challenge the Congress domination (see Rudolph and Rudolph 1987;
Corbridge and Harriss 2001: 80-92). In fact already in the 1950s, with the
abolition of the zamindari laws, a large section of Ahir/Y adavs, Gujars and Jats
purchased ownership rights from the state and emerged as the dominant
agricultural communities in rural Uttar Pradesh. In western Uttar Pradesh, the
wealth and power of the AJGAR alliance (Ahirs, Jats, Gujars and Rajputs)
increased considerably during the Green Revolution (see Hasan 1989).

The so-called new ‘bullock capitalists’, who were generally smallholders

and not members of the dominant landowning class, were given a political voice
by the kisan (peasant) movement of the 1970s and 1980s. In this uncertain
situation, peasant caste/communities like Jats and Ahir/Y adavs increasingly began
to use the language of caste to assert ‘a strong perception of their own and other
people’s caste endowments’ (S. Bayly 1999: 323). This was a response to an
unstable situation in an area where the control of land and resources and of the
uncertain benefits of the Green Revolution did not prove to be an easy battle
(ibid.: 323).

In 1989 the backward castes were mobilised by the Janata Dal party, led
by the socialist leader V.P. Singh. Its socialist-like manifesto emphasised social
justice and promised the backward classes reservations in education and
government service. Besides agrarian changes, a factor that contributed to the
political importance of caste membership amongst low- to middle-ranking
communities was the extension of the policy of protective discrimination to the
OBC category.

However in the early 1990s it was the Hindu nationalist party, the
Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), and not the Janata Dal (JD) or its various offshoots,

34
that emerged as the most credible alternative to Congress at the national level.4
This political development was partly influenced by the central government’s
adoption of the Mandal Commission’s recommendations to establish caste-based
reservations at the national level. The implementation of the Mandal
recommendations in 1990 provoked widespread resentment and disapproval, and
intensified divisions among Hindus. Many upper castes reacted violently to the new
reservation policy and shifted their vote from Congress to the BJP.

Parallel to that, the Ramjanmabhumi movement organised by the Vishwa

Hindu Parishad (VHP), an organisation affiliated to the BJP, and the Rashtriya
Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) significantly changed the Indian political landscape.
The Sangh Parivar (RSS, VHP and BJP) demanded the construction of a Ram
mandir (temple) at the site of the Babri mosque which allegedly stood on Ram’s
sacred birthplace (van der Veer 1994). The Ramjanmabhumi movement
successfully mobilised the Hindu vote in the Assembly election of 199land thus
marked the decline of Congress’s political career in U.P. In 1992, the BJP state
government helped the Sangh Parivar succeed in the demolition of the Ayodhya
mosque, which was then followed by widespread rioting between Hindus and
Muslims (see Hasan 2000).

By the same token, the Janata Dal state government (1989-91), led by
Mulayam Singh Yadav, consolidated its power base by extending reservations for
backward classes in state educational and administrative services (Hasan 2000: 150-
lSl). In the 1993 U.P. assembly elections the BJP lost to a coalition of non-
Congress parties based on the support of lower caste groups and Muslims led by
Mulayam Singh Yadav. However, fights over the control of public goods and
resources weakened the BSP and SP alliance, and it collapsed in June 1995. As
Hasan points out ‘this was not a natural alliance, since the two communities (Dalits
and Yadavs) were engaged in sometimes violent conflicts over land and wages in
the villages’ (Hasan, 2000:185). In the aftermath, the BJP supported the Scheduled
Caste oriented Bahujan Samaj Party to form a state government. This was a strategic
choice for both the parties since it allowed them to control the rising political
influence of Mulayam Singh Yadav. In the 1996 national elections the BSP and the

4 For an exploration of the BJP’s regional expansion and rise to power see Heath (2002).

35
SP continued their upward march as strong political realities in U.P. Together they
polled 45.6 per cent of the votes and got respectively eighteen and six seats (Brass
1997b).

Thus, in recent years, the political battlefield of Uttar Pradesh has been
characterised by the emergence of ‘backward castes’ as major vote banks in
opposition to the so-called ‘forward castes’. Political parties such as the
Samajwadi Party (SP) and the Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP) mobilise lower strata
of the society against the ‘forward castes’ by demanding a greater share of
political power (see Mendelsohn and Vicziany 1998). The Yadavs have been
active protagonists in the so-called Backward Classes movement (Rao 1979), and
in what Yogendra Yadav has termed the ‘second democratic upsurge’ (Y. Yadav
1997; 2000).

By the 1970s, the Yadavs of Uttar Pradesh had gradually introduced

themselves to the political process at local, state and national levels. However, in
the last twenty years Yadavs and other Tower castes’ have made their votes even
‘more effective with the help of better aggregation in social and political terms’
(Y. Yadav 2000: 132). In the 1990s, the manufacturing of electoral majorities
based on caste and community seems to matter more than at any time before
(Corbridge and Harriss 2001: 220-221).

At present, there are two well-established Yadav-dominated political

parties: The SP in Uttar Pradesh led by Mulayam Singh Yadav and the Rashtriya
Janata Dal (RJD) in Bihar guided by Laloo Prasad Yadav and his wife Rabri Devi.
Mulayam Singh Yadav and Laloo Prasad Yadav have become key figures on the
contemporary political scene.5 They are either perceived as heroes, as modem
Robin Hoods who steal from the rich to help the poor, or as goonda (musclemen,
gangsters) who exploit state resources for personal benefit. In either case, their
political role has been of immense symbolic importance for the whole of Indian
society and for the Yadav community, in particular.

5 According to the CSDS data (NES 1999), in the 1999 Lok Sabha elections 77 per cent
of Yadavs in U.P voted for the SP, 10 per cent for the BJP, 4 per cent for the BSP, and 2
per cent for Congress.

36
 The Samajwadi Party was formed in 1992 out of a series of defections
from the Janata Dal. It is mainly a regional party and has its centre of power in
Uttar Pradesh. Its founder and mentor is Mulayam Singh Yadav. However,
Mulayam Singh has credited his personal success to his mentor Dr Rammanohar
Lohia. Lohia’s writings on socialism and politics are acknowledged as a major
source of inspiration by Yadav socialist leaders. A copy of Lohia’s book ‘The
caste system’ (1964) was the first present that I was offered whenever I visited a
Samajwadi Party office in Delhi or Mathura for the first time. Lohia was one of
the few social leaders in the 1960s and 1970s to have recognised ‘the political
potential of the horizontal mobilisation of lower castes on issues of social justice
and ritual discrimination’ (see Seth 1999: 108). He favoured caste mobilisation
over class polarisation because he was of the idea that the latter lacked an
‘empirical social basis for mobilisation politics’ (ibid.).

The rhetoric of the Party today depicts Lohia as a hero who fearlessly
fought for social justice:

‘Such was his life that Lohia became another name for fearlessness.
Both during British rule and in free India he expressed his opinions
fearlessly. His yardstick to judge any idea or plan was always the
same - does it help the downtrodden and the poor? His scholarship
was amazing. His intellect was penetrating. He was a man of
independent views. For five thousand years no one has known
whether the common man is alive or dead in this land. His personality
should blossom and he must grow into a new man. Lohia toiled and
died for the cause of the common man’ (SP pamphlet/manifesto,
1999).

‘The common man’ and the ‘ordinary people’ are the target of the Samajwadi
Party’s rhetoric, and they are mobilised on caste lines. The party draws its vote
from two principal social categories: Muslims and Backward castes. Amongst the
latter the largest caste group is that of the Yadavs, followed by Kurmi, Lodhi and
Saini. Indeed, the Samajwadi Party mobilises on caste lines amongst the Muslim
community also. It draws its strength mainly from backward Muslim castes like
the Qureshi, Kasais, Ansari and Bishti. Thus, the Samajwadi Party’s mobilisation
relies on ascriptive categories. It attempts to build up support not by merging
individual castes together into common social category (i.e. the backward castes),
but ‘by stitching discrete communities into a coalition with the common interest
of achieving political power’ (Chandra 1999: 78). At its rallies the nature of such

37
support is visibly brought out by different caste associations, whose banners offer
support to the Party on behalf of single castes, rather than aggregative social
categories such as the OBC.

The SP makes a special effort to portray its agenda as designed for the
poor and the ordinary people. However, from 1998 Mulayam has also attempted
to recruit support from the ‘forward’ castes. As part of this attempt in the 1996
and 1998 Lok Sabha elections he allotted respectively 21 per cent and 25 per cent
of seats to upper castes. His right hand man and Vice President of the SP, Amar
Singh (Rajput by caste from western Uttar Pradesh, Aligarh district), in an
interview pointed out how one of the main targets of the SP in the next ten years
is to gain more appeal among the upper castes.6 Amar Singh, who is commonly
known as ‘the businessman-politician’, the ‘Thakur face of the SP’ or ‘the
network neta ’ (political leader), is actively engaged in the activities of the All-
Uttar Pradesh Kshatriya Mahasabha, an association which brings together castes
which claim Kshatriya origins. This engagement is clear from the following
extract from a speech delivered by Amar Singh at a Yadav caste meeting in 1999.

‘...I would like to be pardoned for saying that Mulayam Singh Ji is

not only a leader of the Yadavs but we Rajputs also admire him as our
leader. We also organised a mega event, Samajwadi Kshatriya
Mahasammelan. Mr Mulayam Singh Yadav was also felicitated on the
occasion. As I told you Yaduvanshi and Raghuvanshi (heirs of lord
Rama) should be united...The history of the Yadavs and the
Kshatriyas dates back long. Lord Ramachandra without the support of
the backward classes he would have not defeated King Ravana.
Therefore I am confident that the union of the Yadavs and the
backward class people, which has been taken care of under the
leadership of Mulayam Singh Yadav and other leaders will be
maintained’ (Amar Singh, AIYM Convention, Vaishali-New Delhi,
26 December 1999).8

The 1999 and 2002 SP manifestos mirror the party specific social targets.
The following are the major themes of the SP’s political agenda: the party stands

6 Amar Singh/interview, 28 January 2000. For profiles of Amar Singh see Outlook, 10
May 1999; India Today, 25 October 1999.
7Amar Singh/interview (ibid.). See also, The Hindu, 12 April 1999.
8Throughout the thesis, extracts from speeches and texts originally in Hindi appear in the
English translation. Whenever the quote is originally in English it is mentioned.

38
for equality and prosperity for everybody; it is against communal forces; it
believes in democratic socialism and it opposes the uncontrolled entry of
multinational companies to India; it believes that agriculture and small and
medium scale industry are the backbone of the Indian economy, and hence every
assistance should be given to these sectors (see Samajwadi Party Manifesto 1999
or www.samaiwadipartv.org). Thus, lately the party does not present itself as
essentially a party of farmers but also as a party of small entrepreneurs and
businessmen. In my experience in Mathura many young ‘self-made* men who
also belong to upper castes were big fans of Mulayam Singh Yadav. They
appreciate his upfront active position and they took it as an example of a self-
made man. Mulayam Singh portrays himself as an ‘ordinary’ man from a modest
background who has achieved personal success. Men from similarly upwardly
mobile castes who wish to acquire economic and social recognition take the SP
leader as a model.

Significantly, the one category excluded from the SP’s appeal is that of the
Scheduled Castes. The Party demands parity in development schemes for
backward castes with schemes that already existed for the Scheduled Castes. In
1998, Mulayam Singh Yadav accused SCs ‘of misusing the Scheduled
Castes/Scheduled Tribes Preventions of Atrocities Act (1989) to humiliate
members of the other caste categories’ (Chandra 1999: 80). Locally in Mathura,
Yadav SP leaders explicitly express their commitment to undermine Scheduled
Caste interests and attempt to mobilise a coalition of other caste categories against
the SCs.

The election rally held in September 1999 in Mathura district by Mulayam

Singh exemplifies the SP’s mobilising techniques and targets.9 The leader made
special effort to reach out to the Muslims, the backward classes and the small and
medium entrepreneurs. He began his speech by saying the SP is the party which
gives a voice to the poor, the working people and youth. He said that Congress
and BJP are wasting their time by discussing how Indian borders are not safe, and

9 Mulayam Singh Yadav/parliamentary election campaign rally/Kosi, Mathura district/2

September 1999.

39
do not pay enough attention to unemployment, poverty, lack of water and
electricity.

By highlighting the dangers posed to them by the BJP Muslims were

encouraged to vote for the SP. Mulayam Singh explicitly said that the BJP had a
negative attitude towards Muslims. He said that many Muslim shrines were
attacked in the nearby area. He referred to the cases of two small mosques in the
nearby districts of Faridabad and Ferozabad which were attacked by Hindu
fundamentalist organisations in the previous months. He said that he had sent ‘his
men’ to fix the matter and that order had now been re-established. Thus Mulayam
Singh presented himself as a ‘muscular’ defender of Muslim interests. He
promotes himself as a fearless leader.

The Yadav audience was indirectly courted by a long digression on the

usurpations and unjust treatment that milkmen (who in U.P. mainly belong to the
Yadav community) had to face in the previous months (see Chapter 6). Mulayam
Singh said that the milkmen were falsely accused of mixing milk with water and
were then asked for bribes by the police. He accused the public dairy of exploiting
the small milk producers and of buying their milk for Rs. 8 and then selling it for
Rs. 14; and he directly accused the BJP government of not being able to solve the
problems of the poor people and of small scale entrepreneurs. He said that
Congress had destroyed the country in forty-four years and that the BJP managed
to do that in only thirteen months. He ended the speech by saying the SP was the
party of youth, and that in the next assembly elections (2002) the party would
form the government in U.P. During his speeches Mulayam Singh relies on a
language which highlights the weakness and impotence of Congress and the BJP
and the strength and vitality of the SP’s supporters. Mulayam asks his ‘brothers
and sisters’ to assert themselves and to take control of their lives.

In the most recent Uttar Pradesh Assembly elections (February 2002), the
Yadavs’ political relevance was reconfirmed by the successful performance of the
Samajwadi Party, which gained 143 seats in the Vidhan Sabha, and was the
largest single party. The SP is said to have owed its strong showing to Mulayam
Singh’s all-out campaign. His organisational skills successfully mobilised SP

40
workers across the state.10 However, the BJP won 88 seats, the BSP 97 seats,
Congress 26 seats, Independents 15 seats, and the mandate ensured that no single
party could form a government. Even if Congress and the SP came together, the
alliance would still fall short of a majority as there were not enough independents
and members from other parties to prop up the alliance. A BSP-BJP combination
was the only realistic alliance that could form a government. At the time of
writing, the U.P. government is run by a BSP-BJP coalition led by Mayawati, the
leader o f the BSP.

Figure 1: Vote share of the major parties in Uttar Pradesh, Vidhan Sabha
1991-2002

35

30

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1991 1993 1996 2002

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BJP — a— Congress SP - -a -- BSP

Source: Election Commission o f India (www.eci.gov.inl

However, by becoming the largest single party in U.P., and overtaking the BJP in
both vote share and seats, for the SP the results of the 2002 Assembly elections
represented the culmination o f a decade o f gradual growth and consolidation
under the stewardship o f Mulayam Singh Yadav. Figures 1 and 2 detail the
progress o f the major parties in U.P. throughout the 1990s for Lok Sabha and
Vidhan Sabha elections. The entries for the SP in 1991 refer to the vote share for

10Frontline, 2-15 March 2002.

41
the Janata Dal, which was at that time led by Mulayam Singh Yadav. Figure 1
shows that in 1993, the year following the Samajwadi Party’s split from Janata
Dal, the vote share o f the SP was hardly any lower than it had been in the
previous election for the JD. Mulayam was successful in taking most o f the old
JD ’s votes with him (in 1993 the JD received just 12.3% of the vote), and in the
following elections he managed to build on this even more.

In Lok Sabha elections, the Samajwadi Party steadily increased its share of
seats, from seventeen in 1996, to twenty in 1998, to twenty-six in 1999. Indeed,
between 1998 and 1999 it managed to win six extra seats despite its vote share
dropping by over 4 percentage points. This gain is therefore as much a testament to
the organisational capacities of the party, such as the effective targeting of
constituencies, as it is to its popular support.

Figure 2: Vote share of the major parties in Uttar Pradesh, Lok Sabha 1991-
1999

1991 1996 1998 1999

Year

BJP —*— Congress SP - a - BSP

Source: Election Commission o f India (www.eci.gov.irO

In the following sections I discuss in detail the political rhetoric and populist
strategies employed by the SP in mobilising Yadav votes, and the way they are

42
coupled with the rhetoric of Yadav caste associations and the consolidation of a
Yadav sense of commonality at all-India level.

The Yadavs’ ancestral landscape: the Braj and Ahirwal

areas

Mathura town lies in the so-called Braj area (see Map 3).11 This area is well
known as the mythical homeland of the god Krishna. It is also popularly known
for its Buddhist and Jain historical heritage, which today is on display in Mathura
museum. Many studies have analysed the Braj cultural region. From the
seventeenth century onwards the history of Mathura and Braj were recorded in the
accounts of European travellers and British administrators (Lane 1926; Whiteway
1879; Growse 1998; Drake-Brockman 1911; Joshi 1968). More recently,
Entwistle (1987) has produced a detailed study of the area. In addition, the
available contemporary literature on Krishna cults, devotionalism, new religious
movements (i.e. Hare Krishnas) and pilgrimage, all provide detailed descriptions
of Braj and Mathura socio-religious culture (Hein 1972; Hawley 1981; Lynch
1988, 1990, 1996; Haberman 1994).

Given the extensive literature on the area, in this introductory section I

essentially focus upon the ethno-historical portrayal of Ahir/Yadav living space.
‘Historical’ emblems of past Ahir/Yadav kingdoms, together with Krishna’s
sacred topography, contribute a great deal to the story this thesis tells. Firstly,
they offer to ordinary local Ahir/Yadavs visible and physical marks of their
presumed glorious and divine heritage, shaping their sense of past and
consolidating a sense of Yadav commonality. Secondly, these ethno-historic
landmarks offer a wide repertoire of ‘sources’ to Yadav ‘historians’ and
politicians, who then transform the available ‘signs of history’ into a successful
political rhetoric.

11 During colonial times Mathura district was known under the name of Muttra. In 1803 it
was included in British territory, but it was only in 1832 that the city of Mathura became
a local administrative and government unit. During colonial times it was part of the
North-West Provinces, Agra Division, and then from 1877 it was part of the United
Provinces of Agra and Oudh. In 1950 it became part of the new state of Uttar Pradesh.

43
Map 3: Mathura district

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(Uttar Pradesh)
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Source: www.mapsofindia.com

44
M ap 4: B raj-A hirw al cu ltu ral area

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Source: www.expendia.com

45
To begin with, the term ‘Braj’ means ‘pasture’ and a settlement of herders and
cattle breeders. It immediately conveys the pastoral character of its indigenous
inhabitants. The term Braj does not refer to an area with clearly defined
boundaries. It is used to refer to the countryside where Krishna grazed his cattle
and where all the sacred places associated with his childhood are located.
However, more often it is used to describe a cultural area where the Braj Bhasa
Hindi dialect is spoken (Rawat 1967). This dialect is popularly known for its
sweetness and it is assumed to be the language that Krishna spoke while he lived
among the pastoral communities of Braj (Entwistle 1987: 8). This area stretches
from Mathura, Jaleshar, Agra, Hathras and Aligarh right up to Etah, Mainpuri and
Farrukhabad districts. Its western borders blur into a less famous cultural-
geographical region: the Ahirwal (the Land of the Ahirs) which includes parts of
the district of Alwar, Bharatpur in Rajasthan and Mahendragarh, Gurgaon in the
state of Haryana (see K.C. Yadav 1967).12

The Braj-Ahirwal geo-cultural area represents the historical and

geographical universe within which most of the kinship and meaningful relations
of my contemporary Mathura Yadav informants had taken place over the last two
hundred years (see Map 4). In Mathura, the Yadav community traditionally
inhabits three neighbourhoods: Anta Para, Sathgara and Ahir Para. Anta Para
Yadavs claim to come from Ahirwal (Mahendragarh, Alwar and Bharatpur
districts); Sathgara Yadavs claim to be the original inhabitants of Mathura and
Braj; and finally, Ahir Para Yadavs migrated a century ago from the districts of
Etah, Mainpuri, Kannauj and Farrukhabad. The bulk of the ethno-historical and
ethnographic data presented in this thesis come from what I call ‘the Braj-
Ahirwal’ cultural area.

The Braj-Ahirwal area is both the land of Krishna and of the Ahirs.
Contemporary Ahir/Yadavs consider this area as their ancestral homeland. Hence,
Yadavs coming from different parts of India claim their ‘original’ home to be
Mathura. Informants endlessly narrate the stories of Yadav diasporas as reported
in the Mahabharata epic (the longer of the two great Hindu epics). Yadavs are

12 Details on the Ahir caste in the Ahirwal-Braj cultural region are provided by Drake-
Brockman (1905); Lupton (1906); Roberts (1906) andNeave (1910).

46
said to have followed Krishna’s migration from Mathura to Dwarka (Gujarat).
This narrative attempts to explain to outsiders why most of the Yadavs nowadays
live outside Braj. Other legends tell of the Yadavs’ abandonment of Braj to the
Muslim invasions. According to these narratives the Yadav population of Braj
had to take refuge in the forest to protect their women from the Muslim
conquerors and as a result were dispersed throughout India. Finally, locals also
tell the story of how Yadavs were decimated during the Yadav war, a fratricidal
conflict in which Yadavs from different clans fought each other after the death of
Krishna. This episode is also illustrated in the Mahabharata epic. As a matter of
fact, the Ahir/Yadav population in Mathura district is not as dense as it is in the
neighbouring districts of Etah, Jaleshar, Mainpuri, Farrukhabad, Kannauj and
Etawah. Given the number of Yadavs living in these adjacent districts and the
political strength of the Samajwadi Party there, this U.P. area has also been
labelled the ‘Yadav belt’ or the raj (kingdom) of Mulayam Singh Yadav.13

Contemporary Yadav ‘democratic kings (rajas)’ and ordinary Yadavs live

in a socio-cultural religious landscape which is informed by historical landmarks
of the ‘past’, little Yadav kingdoms and political enclaves. Amongst the most
significant are the Ahir kingdom of Rewari (Rao 1977), the Ahir kingdom of
Mahabhan and the Jadon-Rajput kingdoms of Jaleshar (Growse 1998: 11) and
Karouli (Drake-Brockman 1911: 110). The aristocratic dynasties of the Jats of
Hathras, Bharatpur and Alwar, which from the eighteenth century were carved out
of parts of the Braj-Ahirwal territory, are also locally considered to descend from
the Yadu dynasty and hence from Krishna (Mayaram 1997: 29). Local Yadavs
endlessly portray themselves as heirs of this important ‘historical’ heritage’.

The royal merchant family of Mathura, the Seth, also enriches the range of
historical signifiers employed by local Yadavs to assert their intimate and special
link with Mathura town and its urban landscape. The Seth family was a family of
bankers and acted as political representatives for the colonial government in the
nineteenth century (Growse 1998: 14-15). The family conducted its business in
Delhi, Bombay and Calcutta and it was very popular throughout northern India

13According to the CSDS data (NES 1999), the largest caste/communities of U.P. are, in
descending order, Chamar/Jatavs, Rajputs, Yadavs and Brahmans.

47
(ibid.: 14). The founder of the bank was a Gujarati Brahman and follower of
Pusthi Marg, a devotional sect popular amongst merchant communities and
centred in Braj.14 Being childless at his death he left his fortune to Mani Ram
Seth, one of his collaborators. Throughout the nineteenth century the Seth family
remained the most influential family of Mathura. According to historical sources
and oral histories the Yadavs of Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar had a special link with
the Seths (Growse 1998: 179). By the beginning of the nineteenth century, local
Ahirs were employed as administrators by the royal merchant family whose
mansion was constructed nearby the Yadav locality.

One of the symbols of Mathura town is Holi Gate. The ornate sandstone
Gate at the entrance to the old part of the city is Mathura’s major landmark. Holi
Gate is said to have been partly constructed with the money offered by Bola Ahir,
an Ahir/Yadav who used to work for Chand Seth. This and other stories link
topographical features of the town and the surrounding religious landscape with
Yadavs past and present. Thus when they look at the Braj-Ahirwal landscape
Mathura Yadavs see emblems of their past political success and importantly of
their ‘kinship’ relation with the god Krishna. In fact, the Mathura landscape
includes Krishna’s birthplace. In recent years this religious site has been
politicised by the Hindu nationalist agenda. As will become evident in the
following sections, ‘the political recruitment’ of Krishna has indirectly helped the
local Yadav community to think about Krishna as an ‘historical’ ancestor’.

Mathura: Krishna’s ‘divine’ and ‘political’ business

Mathura is recognised as one of Hinduism’s seven sacred cities. One of the most
profitable industries of the town is religious tourism. In recent years Mathura has
been industriously advertised as a tourist site. The new Agra-Delhi motorway has

14 The origins of this movement are attributed to Vallabha at the turn of the sixteenth
century (see Bennett 1993; Pocock 1973: 117-20). Vallabha discovered a svarup (form or
image) of Krishna (himself bom as a Kshatriya prince) as Sri Nathji which became the
order deity. The Maharajas (or Gosain), the custodians of Pusthi Marg Havelis (the
symbolic homes of Nandaraj, Krishna’s foster father), are descendants of Vallabha and
are regarded as body incarnations of Krishna. Braj is one of the main religious centres of
the sect.

48
facilitated day trips from Agra to Delhi via Mathura. Hence, Mathura has been
included in the popular ‘package tours’ which cover the Delhi-Agra-Jaipur travel
circuit. Pilgrims come to Mathura throughout the year to bathe in the Yamuna and
to visit temples, particularly the one erected on Krishna’s birth-site and
Dwarkadhish temple. The latter is the largest Pusthi Marg temple in the town. It
is dedicated to Krishna as Dwarkadhish (Lord of Dwarka). Many come for the
annual Braj Caurasi Kos Parikrama (a 160-mile circumambulation around the
land of Braj), a forty-day pilgrimage visiting many of the places where Krishna
performed his miraculous plays and sports (Mas) as a child (Lynch 1990). Braj is
also the centre of popular Vaishnava sects such as the Gaudiya Sampraday
(tradition), which attracts followers from Bengal, and the Pusthi Marg which is
largely supported by Gujarati merchants.15 There are also establishments of
Ramanandi orders whose members are primarily devotees of Ram (see Burghart
1978). Ram and Krishna are considered to be avatars (incarnations) of the god
Vishnu, who alongside Shiva is one of the most important great gods of
Hinduism. In Mathura people popularly greet each other with cries of *Jai Sri
Ram’, ‘Jai Sri Krishna’ or ‘Radha Radha’. These forms of greeting reflect the
Vaishnava character of the city.

The old part of the city is constructed on a hilly area on the banks of the
Yamuna river. It is constituted by a complicated labyrinth of very narrow alleys
(gali) which lead to the ghats (segments of river frontage). This area of the city
was traditionally divided into 110 mohallas (Growse 1998: 271). Today, the
neighbourhoods still remain an important focus of many cultural and religious
activities. Certain neighbourhoods are mainly Muslim. An estimated twenty per
cent of Mathura city population belongs to the Muslim community.16

15 Vaishnavas are worshippers of Vishnu or any of his avatars including Ram and
Krishna. Devotees of Krishna usually belong to a particular group, order or movement
which may be referred to as sampraday or marg (tradition). The Gaudiya Sampraday is a
devotional sect which was inspired by the Chaitanya who came from the province of
Gauda in Bengal (alias Gaudiya Sampraday)', it centres its cult on the love of Radha for
Krishna (see Toomey 1994).
16Muslims represents the 8 per cent of Mathura district population and nearly 20 per cent
of Mathura city population. In Mathura town their number is nearly 45,000 (Census of
India 1991). According to the Census 1991, the total population of Mathura town is

49
 Chaubiya Para, the neighbourhood of pilgrimage guides, is located in the
heart of the old part of the town. The Chaubes, with their ‘typically carefree,
spontaneous, extrovert, and boisterous way of life’ are a symbol of Mathura and
Braj culture (Entwistle 1987: 7; Lynch 1988). But ‘Krishna’ is not only big
business for the Chaubes. The shops, restaurants, hotels, guesthouses and sweet-
makers greatly benefit from the pilgrimage industry. Most of the inhabitants of
Mathura are employed directly or indirectly in the religious industry. Even if in
recent years light industry has begun to develop around Mathura, and the nearby
Mathura Oil Refinery offers new forms of employment, religious tourism remains
the most profitable activity of the town.

The Hindu religious character of the town makes Mathura an important

site for Hindu nationalist leaders and their followers to gather and organise
themselves for political action. Hindu religious images, in particular of Krishna,
are deployed to forge and popularise Hindu nationalist agendas and to attract
support for rallies and electoral campaigns. Hindu nationalism and religious
business feed each other in a complex and effective way. As a result, Hindu
pilgrimage centres are ideal places where ‘activists publicise Hindu nationalist
ideology and organise support for the movement’ (McKean 1996: 43).

Krishna is one of the most celebrated deities in the Hindu pantheon and
one of the most popular heroes of Hindu mythology. Krishna is a complex figure
(see Singer 1968; Varma 1993). There is the Krishna of Braj, the mischievous
child and the adolescent cowherder and lover of gopis (cowherdesses), the eternal
paradox of flesh and spirit (cf. Hawley 1981). Then there is Krishna the warrior,
the struggling hero of the Mahabharata (Hiltebeitel 1979,1989, 1990). One of the
great epic parts, the Bhagavad Gita is believed to have been spoken by Krishna
himself. Here he is represented as the chief of the Yadavas who serves as
Aijuna’s charioteer in the Bharata epics; he is the god incarnate, the instructor of
Aijuna and through him of all mankind.

245,153. According to the provisional data of the Census 2001 the total population of the
district is 2,069,578.

50
It is the image of Krishna the rigorous, moral, military and masculine advisor of
Aijuna of the Bhagavad Gita that welcomes pilgrims into the Krishnajanmabhumi
complex (see Plate 1). This complex was constructed in the late 1950s. It stands
opposite the Shahi mosque which was allegedly constructed in the seventeenth
century on the ruins of a Krishna nativity temple, the Kesava Deo temple. Hindu
nationalist narratives tell the story of how a series of Muslim invaders, concluding
with the Emperor Aurangzeb in the seventeenth century, demolished the Kesava
Deo temple and built a mosque in its place. Hindu nationalists believe that
Krishna was bom 3,500 years ago in a prison cell where his parents were held
captive by the tyrannical king Kamsa. This cell is supposed to be located under
the present mosque. Today, against the rear wall of the mosque is an underground
chamber representing the cell in which Krishna was bom.

In 1984 the VHP decided to ‘liberate’ three temple sites in North India:
Mathura, Varanasi and Ayodhya. Although the Sangh Parivar chose to focus its
initial efforts on the Ramjanmabhumi issue in Ayodhya, in the last ten years it has
also regularly taken up the issue of the liberation of Krishna’s birthplace. In
particular, on the yearly occasion of Krishna’s birthday celebrations (Janmastami)
and the anniversary of the demolition of the Babri Masjid in Ayodhya, it has
organised demonstrations and protests.17

The Krishnajanmanbhumi issue has also been raised in pre-election

campaigning in an attempt to mobilise the Yadav community in Uttar Pradesh.
The BJP employed this strategy in 1996. As a Hindu activist reported to a
journalist ‘though Lord Krishna cannot be compared with Lord Ram as a role
model of the Hindu way of life, and though the Mathura deity does not have as
much popular appeal as Rama, we (VHP) had thought it would generate
enthusiasm at least among the Yadav community in Uttar Pradesh who consider
Krishna as their ancestor’ (Ramakrishnan 1995: 11).

Despite the fact that the demonstrations organised by the VHP never
achieved the expected success and Mathura is claimed to be a place where Hindu

17 The Hindustan Times, 22 August 1995; Frontline, 8 September 1995; The Economic
Times, 20 August 1996; Indian Express, 13 August 1998; The Hindustan Times, 15
August 2000.

52
Muslim relations are harmonious and peaceful, from the 1950s onwards rioting
seems to have been a recurrent event. In recent times the city has been under
curfew in December 1992, August 2000, and March 2002. In all these instances
Muslim-Hindu or Christian-Hindu tensions were the cause. Hindu nationalist anti-
Muslim rhetoric is present in the everyday life of Mathura residents. Regardless
of apparent calm, local people are aware that violence can spark in the town at
any moment. There is a permanent military command, ‘the black cat’, whose duty
is to protect the temple and the mosque twenty-four hours a day. This regiment
has its headquarters just two hundred metres from Sadar Bazaar and it is a
constant reminder of the tension between local Hindus and Muslims.

Mathura is undoubtedly a ‘BJP town’. The Hindu nationalist party won

the 1991,1996, 1998 and 1999 Lok Sabha elections in Mathura. It draws its
strength from the numerous Bania, Brahman and also Jat communities. The
winning candidate in the last three Lok Sabha elections, Tej Veer Singh, is a Jat.
Also the five Vidhan Sabha constituencies of the Mathura district: Goverdhan,
Chatta, Mat, Mathura-Vrindavan and Gokul have recently been dominated by the
BJP. In the 1996 Vidhan Sabha elections, four of the five constituencies went to
the BJP (Goverdhan, Chatta, Mat and Mathura-Vrindavan), and only one (Gokul)
to Congress.

The Yadavs’ ‘imaginary numerical strength’ in Mathura town

It could be expected that in the BJP stronghold of Mathura, the Yadav-dominated

SP and the Yadav community as a whole lack an effective political voice. In
contrast, local Yadavs are viewed as a numerous and politically strong
community. Since my arrival in town, non-Yadav informants kept telling me that
my choice of Mathura as a site for my research was an excellent one and this was
because the Yadavs were very numerous in town. However, such a claim is far
from reality. The total Yadav population in Mathura district is around 20,000,
which makes them a tiny minority when compared with the numerical strength of
the Jat, the Brahman or the Chamar communities. Since 1991, Mathura has been a
stronghold for the BJP. In the last ten years the SP, which in Uttar Pradesh is
viewed as the party of the Yadavs, has not had much chance of winning a

53
parliamentary seat in the Mathura constituency. Yet it is viewed as powerful and
vocal. During fieldwork, many local issues, such as the lack of water and
problems with electricity, have been politicised and manipulated by local Yadav
SP activists and used as occasions for demonstrations or strikes.

The majority of Mathura town’s Yadavs support the Samajwadi Party.

Locally, this party is also popularly described as a ‘goonda party’: a party of
musclemen and fixers. At the local level its reputation is moulded by the violent
and aggressive outlook of some of the local Yadavs and members of the SP.
Hansen (2001: 81) describes the SP’s ethos of violence and male honour in a
Bombay Muslim neighbourhood. In a similar way, in Mathura the Samajwadi
Party’s leaders and activists stress their bravery in confronting anyone if
necessary. People are afraid of their language of ‘muscle power’. Yadavs in town
have a *dada ’ (strongman) image. A number of Yadav informants pointed out to
me how they are more feared than admired. Indeed, during my fieldwork a
number of violent episodes occurred involving Yadavs. However these do not
wholly justify the extremely bad reputation of Yadavs in the town. I suggest that
the Yadav reputation is based more on rumours than real ‘violent’ actions.

The ethnography presented in this thesis suggests that the Yadav

community appears numerically strong and politically powerful because of its
impressive organisation and ‘reputation’. It is its political activism and its
reputation for aggressiveness and violence that makes the community visible. As
Dipankar Gutpa has argued, ‘politics is not only about numbers it is also about
ability to exercise power in a concerted and organised fashion’ (2000: 171).
Similarly Hansen points out how ‘the idea of relatively stable “support bases” and
“constituencies” of parties or movements is highly evanescent and largely
depends on strategic performances, as well as local configurations of power in
different localities’ (2001: 56). What is at stake in Mathura is the organisational
ability of the Yadav caste associations and the Samajwadi Party which shapes
ideas of what the ‘Yadav’ community is.

As mentioned above, Yadavs inhabit three neighbourhoods in Mathura:

Sathgara, Anta Para and Ahir Para (see Map 5). Sathgara is located in the heart of
Mathura’s historical centre. Anta Para is located just outside the main entrance tc

54
the old part of the town (Holi Gate). Ahir Para is located in Sadar Bazaar near the
Cantonment area. Traditionally these three neighbourhoods were respectively

inhabited by Goallavanshi-Ahirs, Yaduvanshi-Ahirs and Nandavanshi-Ahirs. In

Sathgara, according to local leaders, there are 250 Yadav households. Their
members are mainly involved in the small local dairy business. 60 Yadav
households populate the neighbourhood of Anta Para. Few amongst them are still
involved in milk-business. Anta Para Yadavs were traditionally bullock-cart
drivers. Nowadays, they are mainly engaged in business and government service.
Ahir Para accounts for 400 Yadav households. The total population of Yadavs in
Mathura city is estimated at around ten thousand by local Yadav caste leaders.
However, pre-election calculations made by different political parties estimated
fifteen thousand. In their calculations they also counted the Yadavs living in
Krishna Nagar and in the Mathura Oil Refinery residential colony. Yadavs who
migrated to Mathura in recent times tend to reside in these localities.

At the beginning of the twentieth century each of the three Yadav

neighbourhoods (Sathgara, Anta Para and Ahir Para) had their own caste
associations: the Goallavanshi Kshatriya Sabha, and two both named the Ahir
Kshatriya Sabha. It was only in the late 1970s that these associations fused
together to form the Mathura Yadav Sammelan (association) (MYS), a caste
association affiliated to the All-India Yadav Mahasabha (AIYM). In 1981, the
MYS organised the AIYM’s forty-eighth conference. Informants generally
pointed to this event as the start of the Yadav ‘awakening’ in Mathura. Such local
reorganisation and mobilisation should be understood in the context of changes
that occurred at the macro-level of the AIYM structure, which I discuss in detail
in Chapter 2. The MYS is very active and organises numerous meetings and
religious festivals. These coupled with the activities organised by the local unit of
the Samajwadi Party and an efficient use of the local media make the Yadav
community extremely visible in the public arena.

55
Map 5: Mathura town, Yadav neighbourhoods

L'yr< f+

r: / ***'

N*. .

Source: Entwistle (1987: supplement)

Key:

1 Sathgara
2 Anta Para
3 Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar
Map 6: Sadar Bazaar locality

v - ♦
Hjttwna uojfu

MahedevOlihax

Source: Entwistle (1987: supplement)

Key:

1 Mali Mohalla
2 Arat Mohalla
3 Sabzi Mandi/Bazaar Street
4 Ahir Para
5 Zaharkhana
6 Bara Kasia
7 Chota Kasia
8 Mewati Mohalla
9 Dhobi Mohalla
10 Regimental Bazaar

57
The sociology of Yadav living space: Ahir Para/Sadar
Bazaar locality

Today, local Yadavs say that their population in Sadar Bazaar is about 4,000.
Within Sadar Bazaar the Yadav and the Muslim communities are numerically the
strongest. They are followed by Malis, Banias, Dhobis, Brahmans and Jatavs.
Ahir Para borders the Dhobi mohalla, Mewati mohalla, Regimental Bazaar and
Bazaar Street (see Map 6 ). The northeast part of Sadar Bazaar is mainly Muslim:
Chotta Kasai Para, Bara Kasai Para and Zaharkhana mohalla. Kasai/Qureshis,
Pathans, Mewatis and Bishti/Abbasis live in these localities. Low castes such as
Jatavs and Valimiki mainly live in Mukheria Nagar in the northwest part of Sadar
Bazaar. Mainly Banias and Brahmans inhabit the central part of the market.
Towards the northwest, within the so-called Yamuna Bhag area, Malis
(gardeners) mainly reside. South of Ahir Para, the area called Regimental Bazaar
is a mixed caste area even if the Yadavs outnumber the other castes and
communities. Sadar Bazaar corresponds to four municipality wards: Ward 2,
Ward 4, Ward 10 and Ward 15. At present, the elected municipality members of
Wards 2, 4 and 10 belong to the Yadav community. Thus, local Yadavs are not
only numerically dominant but also politically powerful.

Sadar Bazaar’s varied social composition is related to the history of the

Cantonment station on whose outskirts it has developed in the last two hundred
years. The concept of the cantonment was developed by the British in the second
half of the eighteenth century. Considerations for the health and discipline of the
troops made the East India Company start to set up residential areas for soldiers
and their officers. Cantonment stations, though primarily meant for Army
personnel, incorporated civilians who provided services to the army. Thus, milk-
vendors, merchants, vegetable and fruit suppliers, butchers, barbers, carpenters,
cooks, sweepers, gardeners, doctors, and water carriers moved in and began to
live in areas often called ‘bazaar areas’, where they rendered services or pursued
their trades and professions. In various Indian towns we still find localities called
Sadar Bazaar which stand close to Cantonments and the Civil Lines. The Civil
Lines city quarters are another British legacy. These areas were occupied (and
still are) by the government administrative offices (courts, police and district

58
headquarters) and the bungalows of their employees (and, in the past, by British
expatriates).

The Mathura Cantonment occupied a fairly large stretch of land between

the city and the Civil Lines. Following Independence it still maintained a high
level of government autonomy. Life in the Cantonment is indeed different when
compared with life in the other localities of Mathura town. Its inhabitants provide
a unique character to the place. First of all people from different parts of the
country live together and they have developed a peculiar ‘Cantonment culture’.
The common language is English and usually the wives and sons of army people
portray themselves as ‘cosmopolitan’ and ‘modem’. They have transformed their
protected Cantonment environment into small ‘Bombay’ and ‘Delhi’ middle and
upper class enclaves. Needless to say, they generally dislike the old parts of the
city because they are too ‘backward’, ‘dirty’ and ‘noisy’. Within the Cantonment
there are clubs, intemet-cafes, restaurants, beauty-parlours, shops, and sports
complexes. The lives of its inhabitants revolve around these centres and regular
trips to Delhi.

Over the years Sadar Bazaar has gradually lost its role as the main bazaar
in the Cantonment and Civil Lines. Local merchants (Banias) tell stories of the
gradual deterioration of the bazaar following Independence. According to them,
during colonial times it was an affluent market. Soon after Independence, the shift
of large battalions to the nearby Meerut Cantonment affected local business.
Moreover, over the years the Cantonment structure has become more self-
sufficient and few people now come to shop in Sadar Bazaar, and instead go to
the Cantonment emporium.

Consequently, in the last fifty years the economic fabric of Sadar Bazaar
has changed substantially. In particular, over the years the relation between
specific castes and professions/services has weakened. For example, the decrease
in demand for milk, meat, vegetables and for services such as clothes-washing,
barbers and so on, encouraged many people to leave their caste-specific
profession and to set up their own business: petty business, taxi companies,
printing-presses, sweet-shops. Moreover, the younger generation are encouriged
to study and to participate in the Civil Service competitions. Table 1.1 shows the
generational change in occupations. Men living in Sadar Bazaar today are

59
significantly more likely than their grandfathers to be in business (42 per cent
1R
compared with 31 per cent). They are also significantly more likely to be
manual workers and significantly less likely to be in agriculture and dairy
farming.

Table 1.1: Occupation of men by generation, Sadar Bazaar 1 9

Men Father Grandfather
Professionals 6 % 3% 4%
Government j obs 24% 35% 19%
Business 42% 35% 31%
Manual 24% 14% 14%
Agriculture 4% 1 2 % 32%
Number 191 225 225
S o u rce: M a th u ra S u rv e y
N o tes: T a b le e n trie s fo r ‘M e n ’ a re b a se d o n th e p o o le d m a le sa m p le o f a ll m e n in w o rk (re sp o n se s
o f m ale re s p o n d e n ts c o m b in e d w ith th e re s p o n se s o f fe m a le re s p o n d e n ts w h o p ro v id e d
in fo rm a tio n a b o u t th e ir h u sb a n d s). N o n -w o rk e rs (9 % o f a ll m e n ) are n o t in c lu d e d to en su re
c o m p a ra b ility w ith p re v io u s g e n e ra tio n s. T h e e n trie s fo r ‘F a th e r’ a n d ‘G ra n d fa th e r’ are b a s e d o n
in fo rm a tio n th a t m a le a n d fe m ale re sp o n d e n ts g a v e a b o u t th e ir fa th e rs a n d g ra n d fa th e rs.

Table 1.2: Occupation of men by caste, Sadar Bazaar 2 0

Profess­ Govt. Business Manual Agriculture Non N
ional Jobs And dairy worker
Brahman 32% 44% 8 % 8 % 8 % - 25
Bania 4% 8 6 % - 4% 7% - 28
Other Upper 5% 2 1 % 42% 2 1 % 1 1 % - 19
Castes
Yadav 4% 18% 46% 13% 1 0 % 1 0 % 61
Other OBC 30% 30% 30%
- 1 0 % - 1 0

SC 36% 14% 37%

- 14% - 2 2

Muslim 18% 28% -44% 3% 8 % 39

Other 33% -50% 17% - - 6

All 5% 2 1 % 39% 2 1 % 3% 9% 01 p

18 Significance tests were run on all tables. The words ‘more likely’ or ‘less likely’ are

used to indicate that a difference exists between two sub-groups, or between a sub-group
and the average, which is significant at the 0.05% level or above.
19 ‘Professional’ includes Doctors, Lawyers, Accountants and Teachers. ‘Government

jobs’ is mainly Class in and Class IV employees. ‘Business’ is mainly medium and small
businessmen and petty shopkeepers. ‘Manual’ includes Mechanics, Electricians, Tailors,
Dhobis, Ayahs and Sweepers. ‘Agriculture’ includes Livestock farming and Dairy
farming.
2 0 The category ‘other upper castes’ includes mainly Rajputs, Jats, Punjabis and Saxenas;

the category other OBC, mainly Malis while the category SC comprises Dhobis,
Chamar/Jatavs and Bhangi/Valmiki.

60
S o u rce: M a th u ra S u rv e y
N o te s: T a b le e n trie s a re b a s e d o n th e fu ll p o o le d m a le s a m p le (n o in fo rm a tio n w a s re c o rd e d fo r 8
cases).

Table 1.3: Education of men by caste, Sadar Bazaar

Illiterate Up to Matric and plus Graduate Number
9 th
two
Brahman - 4% 31% 65% 26
Bania - 2 1 % 43% 36% 28
Other Upper 1 2 % 24% 59% 6 % 17
Castes
Yadav 7% 40% 39% 14% 57
Other OBC 1 0 % 40% 30% 2 0 % 1 0

SC 36% 23% 32% 9% 2 2

Muslim 24% 49% 2 0 % 7% 41

Other 67% 17% - 17% 6

All 14% 31% 34% 2 1 % 207

S o u rce: M a th u ra S u rv ey
N o te s: T a b le e n trie s are b a s e d o n th e p o o le d m a le sa m p le (n o in fo rm a tio n w a s re c o rd e d fo r 11
cases).

Table 1.4: Education of women by caste, Sadar Bazaar

IlliterateUp to Matric and plus Graduate Number
9 th
two
Brahman 5% 16% 42% 37% 19
Bania -40% 25% 35% 2 0

Other Upper 31% 54% 15% 13 -

Castes
Yadav 52% 29% 17% 2 % 52
Other OBC 29% 57% 14% - 7
SC 67% 17% 6 % 1 1 % 18
Muslim 56% 31% 6 % 6 % 32
Other 80% - - 2 0 % 5
All 41% 30% 17% 1 2 % 166
S o u rce: M a th u ra S u rv e y
N o te s: T a b le en trie s are b a s e d o n th e p o o le d fe m a le sa m p le (n o in fo rm a tio n w a s re c o rd e d fo r 7
cases).

61
Table 1.5: Wealth and caste in Sadar Bazaar21
Poorest Middle Richest Number
Brahman 14% 43% 43% 28
Bania 7% 61% 32% 28
Other Upper 16% 74% 1 1 % 19
Castes
Yadav 24% 55% 2 1 % 6 6

Other OBC 2 0 % 50% 30% 1 0

SC 23% 64% 14% 2 2

Muslim 24% 56% 2 0 % 41

Other 38% 63% - 8

Total 2 0 % 57% 23% 2 2 2

S o u rce: M a th u ra S u rv e y
N o tes: T a b le e n trie s a re b a s e d o n a ll re sp o n d e n ts (n o in fo rm a tio n w a s re c o rd e d fo r 3 case s).

The Banias are traditionally a merchant community. Even today, most of them
( 8 6 per cent) are involved in business (see Table 1.2). They are one of the richest
communities in Sadar Bazaar (see Table 1.5), and both men and women are well-
educated (see Tables 3 and 4). They now have shops in the Holi Gate market in
the centre of town. Sadar Bazaar has become the place where they tend to live,
but not the setting of their business. In Sadar Bazaar there are 250 Bania
(Agrawal) households, mostly located on Bazaar Street. The Bania residential
area revolves around Sadar Bazaar Street and the Hanuman temple, where the
local Brahman community also usually go for puja. The local Bania-Agrawals
have their own caste association which is very active, and in particular facilitates
marriage arrangements at the regional level (see Babb 1998).

The Brahmans live mainly around the main bazaar street. They are the
most well-off community in the area (see Table 1.5) and they are largely involved
in professional jobs as doctors, teachers, lawyers, civil servants, journalists,

21 The wealth index is constructed by combining which assets people have with how
much money they spend on food and other household necessities per month. Assets range
from 1 to 5, with 5 the richest and 1 the poorest. People in the richest category own a car
or a jeep or have a servant. People in the next category own a scooter AND a colour
television, people in the middle category own a scooter OR a colour television, people in
the fourth category own a radio, or a black and white television, or an electric fan and
people in the poorest category do not own any of these things. Household expenditure
also ranges from 1 to 5. People in the richest category spend more than Rs.5000 per
month, and people in the poorest category spend less than Rs.1500 per month. The wealth
index is the sum of these two different measures and is split into three categories:
poorest, middle, and richest.

62
priests and so on (see Table 1.2). They are well educated, and a high number of
both men and women have been to university (see Table 1.3 and 1.4). Besides the
Bania and the Brahmans another numerically important community are the
Dhobis (washermen), classified as a Scheduled Caste. Local Dhobis (100
households) are still mainly engaged in their traditional profession, even if in
recent years new environmental laws prevent them from washing clothes in the
Yamuna river. This caused a lot of resentment amongst the community, which in
1999 went on strike twice. Many Dhobis are now engaged in the tailoring
profession and they encourage their sons to study and obtain a place in
government service. Overall, the Scheduled Castes are mainly either involved in
their ‘traditional’ manual occupations or in government jobs, where they have
benefited from the reservation policy (see Table 1.2). As shown in Tables 1.3 and
1.4, there are still high levels of illiteracy, particularly among Scheduled Caste
women (67%).

Amongst the OBC, the Mali community (300 households) which

traditionally grew vegetables on the banks of the Yamuna river have begun in
recent years to be attracted by other professions. Local Malis are strong
supporters of the BJP and they run a local branch of the RSS, where Hindu
activists meet daily for their exercises. A large part of Sadar Bazaar is inhabited
by Muslims who live in Chota Kasai Para, Bara Kasai Para, Zaharkana, and
Mewati mohallas. They belong to different castes. Traditionally, they used to be
butchers and sold meat. The Bara Kasai used to sell cow and buffalo meat, and
the Chotta Kasais mainly goat and chicken meat.

In the last fifty years, local Bara Kasais have begun to call themselves
Qureshi and to adopt pure Islamic practices through the influence of ‘Tablighi
Jamat’. The Qureshi movement is a large one. According to the vice-president of
the All-India Jamiat-Ul-Quresh, who resides in Mathura, there are sixty-five
million Kasais in India and forty million in U.P. In Sadar Bazaar, local Muslims
are mainly involved in small business or they are tailors, mechanics and rickshaw
pullers (see Table 1.2). The last abattoir in Bara Kasai was closed fifteen years

63
ago for reasons of hygiene. 2 2 A small number of local Kasai/Qureshis are still
involved in the cattle and buffalo trade.

Thus in the past and to some extent in the present the interaction between
the Ahir/Yadavs and the Kasai/Qureshis was (and is) based on business, with the
selling and buying of cows and buffaloes. However, the cow is not only a
commercial link connecting the two communities; it is also the symbol that draws
the line between them. I have often been told, ‘Muslims eat cows and Yadavs
worship them’. With this statement the separation between the two communities
was asserted. No Yadav would ever sell an old or an ill cow to a Kasai/Qureshi
and this is because they believe that Kasai/Qureshis will slaughter and eat it.

Historically cow protection movements have significantly shaped the

formation of the Yadav community in northern India. Gyanendra Pandey (1983)
describes how, since the end of the nineteenth century, the protection of the cow
was central to the Ahir/Yadav movement in the Bhojpuri area (see Pinch 1996:
118-138). Archival material and secondary sources illustrate that cow protection
was also a major concern for the Ahir/Y adavs of Braj and Ahirwal (Rao 1979).
As a matter of fact, the cow protection issue is still a lively one in Mathura town.
In the following chapters I explore a number of instances in which the symbol of
the cow is used to draw boundaries between local Ahir/Y adavs and
Kasai/Qureshis, and other instances when it is downplayed to consolidate the
Yadav-Muslim alliance which supports the Samajwadi party.

With regard to local relations between Ahir/Yadavs and Kasai/Qureshis,

most of the local mythology that I collected portrayed the Yadav community in
perennial struggle with the ‘barbaric outsiders’: the Muslims. These narratives
argue that if contemporary Yadavs have a middle-low status and some of them are
poor it is because of the Muslim invasion of the past. The basic theme of these

22Mathura town is also under the Cow Protection Act. In December 2001 U.P. state’s
Cow Protection Commission totally banned cow slaughter in the state and reinforced the
Prevention Act of 1975 by making the killing of a cow a criminal act. Local
Kasai/Qureshi have not slaughtered buffaloes and goats for more than thirty years now.
23NAI Home Department, Political A. Proceedings, June 1910, File 138, Petition against
the slaughter of cows in the city and district of Muttra. NAI Home Department, Political,
Deposit, January 1918, File 33, Memorial protest against the slaughter of cows in the city
of Muttra.

64
narratives is that Yadavs were Rajput and wealthy, but in order to protect their
women and cows from the Muslim invasion they had to take refuge in the jungle
where they became herders and nomadic tribes. This anti-Muslim folk rhetoric is
extremely widespread amongst Sadar Bazaar’s Yadavs and other Hindu
communities. In particular it is young people who describe the Muslims as
fanatics ‘without heart’. Contrary to this, older generations are more prone to
portray a peaceful and harmonious cohabitation.

This generational dualism is also evident at the level of popular religion.

Written sources and oral histories collected in Mathura say that years ago the
local temples dedicated to Gogaj and to Salvar Sultan attracted both Muslims ana
Hindu followers. Nowadays only Hindus worship at these shrines. In Sadar
Bazaar Hindus still visit local dargahs (Roshan Baba Pir, Dinka Baba and Viran
Majsid) on Thursday. Many Yadavs visit these shrines regularly. However, I
never met members of the local Bania and Brahman communities in these
settings. Generally when members of the Yadav community pass by the local
dargahs even if they do not stop to offer puja they bow their head as a sign of
respect. However, the younger generations of Yadavs has stopped visiting
Muslim shrines because they consider them ‘Muslim gods’. On many occasions I
have been told that since they already have so many gods, Hindus do not need to
worship Muslim ones.

If religious syncretism is drifting away, separating Hindu from Muslim,

the same is also happening in the day-to-day practices of castes which have for
generations maintained Muslim and Hindu traditions. I am referring to the local
Meo and Bishti/Abbasi communities. The case of the Rajput-Muslim Meos has
been widely illustrated (see for example Jamous 1996). In Braj and surrounding
areas Meos, Gujars, Jats and Ahir/Yadavs share the same kind of kinship and
claim descent from Krishna. Locally, in the Mewati mohalla, which borders Ahir
Para, local people still claim to be Rajput and to share with their Ahir/Yadav
neighbours a similar clan system and preferential hypergamous marriage pattern
(see Chapter 3). The Bishti/Abbasi, traditional water-carriers, also maintain
similar customs. The local Bishti community of Sadar Bazaar look down on the
Qureshis because they practise cross-cousin marriages. The Bishti community
celebrates Hindu festivals like Diwali, Goverdhan Puja and Holi. During their

65
marriage ceremonies it is customary to offer money both to the local temple and
mosque. For example, the family of Babbu Abassi, who is a cattle-trader,
regularly visit the Zahar Khana mosque on Fridays, and on Monday they visit the
Chamunda Devi shrine, and on Thursdays they visit the Hanuman temple. They
absolutely do not eat beef and they consider Kasai/Qureshis ritually inferior to
themselves because of their habit of eating cow and buffalo meat. Like the
Yadavs they do not sell an old cow or an ill cow to the Kasai/Qureshi, but they
donate it instead to Cow Protection houses (goshala) (see Lodrick 1981).
However these Hindu Muslim syncretic practices are strongly criticised by the
Qureshi community, and there is a strong social pressure to conform to ‘proper’
Muslim customs.

I now turn to the largest community of Sadar Bazaar: the Yadavs. It is

worth noticing that within Mathura, Sadar Bazaar is now considered a Yadav
‘small town’ and the presence of other communities is often downplayed. Sadar
Bazaar/Ahir Para Yadavs traditionally belong to the Nandavanshi-Ahir
subdivision. During British times, they immigrated to Mathura from the
neighbouring districts of Mainpuri, Etah, Farrukhabad and Kannauj. At the time,
Mathura was an important army-training centre for Ahir soldiers. In addition, they
were employed as bullock-cart and/or truck drivers. However, military service
was not the only source of employment and income offered by the Army
structure. The civil and military population of the Cantonment demanded regular
milk supplies. Consequently, Ahirs and Goallas from nearby districts migrated to
Mathura and began to work in large numbers for the Cantonment dairy, or they
set up their own milk business (see Salzman 1989). After Independence, the shift
of an important battalion caused a sudden fall in demand for milk supplies. This
together with the lack of grazing land, the reinforcement of rules implemented to
regulate the commerce of milk, and the establishment of a public dairy brought
about important socio-economic changes in Ahir Para.

66
 •in
Plate 2: Dairy Business, Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar

Plate 3: Transportation Business, Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar

67
Several milk vendors began to use the surplus milk to make sweets and they set
up halwai shops (sweet-shops). They then began to invest their profits in other
types of business such as transportation and small-scale construction industries.
This economic transformation followed a recurrent pattern: a shift from cow-
herding and milk selling occupations to the transportation business (from bullock-
cart to motor vehicle) and then to the construction business. A significant number
of Yadavs in the Braj-Ahirwal area are involved in the real estate and building
sectors. 2 4 Since the 1970s, when the Mathura Oil Refinery opened, a substantial
number of Ahir Para Yadavs began to transport oil for the Refinery on a contract
basis (see Plate 2 and Plate 3). Those Yadavs who did not set up their own
business sought jobs in the army and the police, the other two traditional spheres
of occupation for Ahir/Y adavs in northern India. More recently, the government
has become one of the most esteemed sources of employment, especially amongst
the new generations who benefit from caste reservation (see Table 1.2).

In Ahir Para the number of people involved in the milk business is not
very high and has decreased with the years. In the economy of Ahir Para, parallel
to these activities, there is a realm of illegal activities: extortion, protection-
rackets, usury, and petty criminality. These activities are prominent, even if
difficult to assess in a systematic way. The Yadavs of Ahir Para are often
described by outsiders as goondas. They are commonly referred to as thugs who
base their strength on muscle power. Such comments, rumours and stereotypes
say a lot about how Ahir Para Yadavs are perceived in the collective imagination:
they are numerous, strong, united and aggressive towards others. Casteism
(jativad) and violence are the other two attributes with which they are generally
credited. Such a reputation is linked to the political involvement and connections
of a number of local Yadavs as fixers and brokers and to their dada (strongman)
culture (see Hansen 2001).

At least five persons belonging to the Yadav community act locally as

brokers and fixers (dalal) in Sadar Bazaar and at the same time they occupy local

24 Similarly Hansen (2001: 102) has described how Shiv Sena’s backbone members and
organisers are ‘builders cum politicians’.

68
political positions. 2 5 The important role of politicians (local caste/clan leaders,
party activists, ward representatives) as the link between the state and society in
India has been widely recognised (Ruud 2000: 115). In Uttar Pradesh ‘politicians’
are often the link between criminality/corruption, the police and society (Brass
1997a; see also Jeffrey and Lerche 2000; Fuller and Harriss 2000: 12-13). Ahir
Para Yadavs are connected with the political network of central Uttar Pradesh. At
the base of these connections are kinship ties. Jaleshar, Etah, Mainpuri, Etawah,
Kannauj and Farrukhabad are the districts of origin of the main lineages present in
the neighbourhood. This area is also the space of the ‘kindred of recognition’ and
the territory within which women are usually exchanged (Mayer 1960:161) and,
as mentioned above, it is popularly known as the ‘Yadav belt’ (English word) (see
Chapter 3).

In this area over the last fifty years local Yadavs have strongly benefited
from state land reforms: from being cowherders, petty cultivators or tenants they
have become the major landowners of the region. This economic progress has
been accompanied by growing political success. Today, a significant number of
MLAs and MPs in the districts of Jaleshar, Etah, Etawah, Kannauj and Mainpuri
are from the Yadav caste. Their leader and mentor is Mulayam Singh Yadav, who
is originally from a village near the town of Etawah. He is a Kamaria-
Nandavanshi-Yadav and he belongs to the same Yadav subdivision as the Yadavs
of Ahir Para. ‘We give our daughters to Mulayam’s parivar (family)’ my
informants often said proudly. Kinship ties (real or fictive) are viewed as
important channels through which political power and economic resources are
controlled and distributed. By being ‘close’ to the centre of Yadav power, the
Yadavs of Ahir Para are said to be in a position to get more benefits from the new
redistribution of state resources than, for example, the other Yadavs of Mathura
town living in the neighbourhoods of Sathgara and Anta Para.

25 As Hansen suggests ‘these men and their networks constitute the elementary units of
popular urban neighbourhoods. They embody the opacity of urban life, and some of
them, and some of their activities, also form units of “criminal racket”-gangs of
slumlords, bootleggers, extortionists and smugglers’ (2001: 188).

69
Mahadev Ghat Akhara: the local Yadav ‘political’ stage

Yadav males in Sadar Bazaar have two main public meeting points: Mahadev
Ghat gymnasium (akhara) and Ahir Para garden (bagica). Akharas and bagicas
are at the heart of Mathura local culture (see Lynch 1990,1996). These
gymnasiums/gardens, where there is a wrestling arena, provide a space for
exercising, worship and also engaging in other social activities (see also Kumar
1988). These places are the locus of local political activities and they are
important stages where politics is locally performed (see Hansen 1996). In Sadar
Bazaar these settings are also the informal headquarters of local Yadav caste
associations. The two main Sadar Bazaar gymnasiums are the focii for Yadav
factionalism and internal feud-like disputes. Different factions visit different
akharas/bagicas. However, whenever the community meet to discuss issues that
transcend internal factions and rivalries they meet at Mahadev Ghat. And it is
Mahadev Ghat that this section is about. It is by spending long hours in this
setting that I witnessed many of the political performances described in the
following chapters. Indeed, this political stage condenses many of the symbols
and values which serve as primary reference points in the development and
performance of the Yadav political rhetoric explored in this thesis. Central to this
rhetoric are Krishna’s muscular pro-socialist deeds and Yadav martial qualities.
Mahadev Ghat is the place where local Yadavs produce and cultivate their sense
of community, their fighting spirit and goonda reputation.
q
Mahadev Ghat lies on the bank of the Yamuna river in the Yamuna Bagh i
locality. The religious complex comprises a wrestling area and a number of
shrines which lie in a forest-like landscape. The main shrines are dedicated to
Shiva, Hanuman and Krishna. Indeed the morphology of this religious landscape,
the position of the trees, of the wrestling arena, the lingam of Shiva are said to
have been designed by Krishna himself. Small alcoves are dedicated to Kali and
to Jahavir Baba (Gogaji), a Rajput (Ahir) hero-god. Adal and Udal, the two
protagonists of a well-known martial oral epic (the Alha) are said to wrestle on
the akhara pitch during the summer nights (see Chapter 5). Mahadev Ghat’s
religious space is also occupied by a number of tombs (samadhi) of ‘Yadav’
ascetic and wrestler gurus (ustad) who died in the last hundred years.
Plate 4: ‘Yadav’ Sadhus, Mahadev Ghat, Mathura

71
The complex is maintained by Yadav sadhus who mainly belong to the
Ramanandi sampraday (see van der Veer 1988 and Pinch 1996) or are followers
of Pusthi Marg (Bennett 1993) and by local Yadavs. In April 1999, a Ram temple
was inaugurated on the outskirts of Mahadev Ghat. The temple was constructed
with money donated by a Yadav businessman from Etawah who is the son of
Babaji, one of the main caretakers of the akhara complex. Babaji is the follower
of Bal Ram Das Maharaj (a former Yadav) who fifty years ago set up a
Ramanandi ashram in nearby Vrindavan. Both Bal Ram Das and Babaji are
Yadav by caste and come from the nearby district of Etawah (see Plate 4).

In Vrindavan there are five Ramanandi ashrams whose recruits are mainly
Yadavs. Indeed a large number of Yadav ascetics from different parts of North
India, in particular from Eastern U.P., Bihar and Gujarat, stop for brief periods at
the Mahadev Ghat. They use this place as a base during their stay in Mathura. In
the last forty years this network of ‘Yadav’ sadhus has collected money for the
construction of the Yadav guesthouse (dharamshala) in Ahir Para. Nowadays this
place is used by Yadav pilgrims who come to Mathura, and as a venue for local
marriages and the meetings of the MYS. Thus, despite choosing to lead an ascetic
life and, hence, to renounce their caste, Yadav sadhus still maintain strong
relations with their community. This is particularly evident in their overwhelming
presence at local Yadav caste meetings. Moreover, during the Lok Sabha election
campaign of 1999, the followers of Bal Ram Das (Yadav) campaigned for the
Samajwadi Party throughout western and central Uttar Pradesh. The Yadav
sadhus political network transforms Mahadev Ghat into a public socio-religious
arena where regional Yadav politics and community issues are discussed before
being internalised in the local political fabric.

At Mahadev Ghat Yadav men from different generations come and meet
up. They often complained about ‘the aggressiveness’ of their women and their
dominant role in the household. Mahadev Ghat is often ironically described as a
place where men could escape their women’s complaints. During the day the
oldest come to exercise, to sunbathe and to take bhang (an intoxicating beverage
made from cannabis leaves), or laddu (little balls made with cannabis leaves and
flour). By five o’clock the youngest begin to arrive. They exercise, have a bath,
do puja and then stop to chat till late.

72
Plate 5: Bodybuldiers and wrestlers at Mahadev Ghat, Mathura.

73
Mainly men visit Mahadev Ghat. Women do not go to the temple because they
say ‘it is an akhara ’ and hence men are always indecent (i.e. almost naked).
Indeed, the absence of women is determined by the public and ‘political’
character of the place. 2 6 As mentioned previously, women are not part of the
public political life of Sadar Bazaar/Ahir Para locality. However, in the private
sphere they actively support their men’s ethos of honour and virility which
informs a great deal of Yadav political discourse. Yadav women appreciate tough
and strong men and they raise their male children to be so. They often stressed to
me that it is because of the way they feed their sons that they are so strong, tall
and beautiful. Emphasis is placed on milk products and especially on cow milk.
Yadav women do not work outside the house. However, within the house one of
their main duties and ‘privileges’ is to take care of the cows which provide the
milk (<dudh) and clarified butter (ghi) for the daily family diet. Milk and butter are
primarily meant for male consumption. Drinking milk is part of Yadav macho
culture.

Mahadev Ghat is not only the place where ‘politics’ is usually discussed
but also the place where local Yadavs build up their image of men of strength.
Local Yadavs are generally extremely body conscious and exercise regularly.
Although only a few of them are proper wrestlers (i.e. earn their living from
wrestling competitions), almost every young Yadav in the neighbourhood
practises wrestling and body-building as a form of exercise and leisure activity. In
conversations young Yadav informants often point out the importance of physical
strength and muscle power (see Plate 5). They are proud of being ‘a caste of
wrestlers’ and of having an ‘innate’ fighting spirit. 2 7 They portray wrestling as a
Yadav prerogative. Alter (1997: 45-46) underlines how in North India the
majority of the members of akharas are of Yadav caste. He explains the
preponderance of Yadav wrestlers because of their involvement in the milk
business and dairy farms. Yadavs traditionally had access to two of the most
important and otherwise expensive ingredients in a wrestler’s diet: milk and

26 For comparative ethnographic data on the public/politics and private divide see
Chowdhry (1994: 283-292).
27For comparative ethnographic data on local forms of essentialism see Osella and Osella
(2000a: 231:237).

74
clarified butter. Thus paramount to Yadavs’ conception of masculinity is the
idiom of milk which is associated with both physical strength and virility (see
Alter 1997: 148-149).28 Local Yadavs think that ‘milk’ has helped the members
of their caste to become strong and thus they indirectly recognise the role of their
women as providers of ‘first class’ milk and strength. They also hold the idea that
besides the ‘milk factor’ Yadavs are by birth particularly predisposed to be great
wrestlers and also skilled politicians. The symbolic equation between physical
strength and political capacity is continuously expressed by informants with the
use of metaphors, parables and mythic narratives. Local Yadavs emphasise that
their ancestor Krishna was a skilful wrestler and a ‘democratic’ politician and that
Yadav kings were also wrestlers or patrons of wrestling tournaments (dangal).
However, in the eyes of informants nothing embodies the relation between
political skill and physical strength better than the Yadav political leader
Mulayam Singh Yadav. Mulayam Singh is said to have paid for his studies and
financed the first part of his political career by winning wrestling competitions.
He is described locally as first of all a wrestler and then a politician. In August
1999, the Samajwadi Party parliamentary candidate for Mathura was presented in
Sadar Bazaar on the occasion of the annual dangal organised to celebrate Nag
Panchami. Nag Panchami is the festival in which wrestling is celebrated as a way
of life for everyone. However, the SP candidate portrayed wrestling as a
culturally distinctive feature of the Yadavs and of the strong men voting for the
Samajwadi Party.

The images o f ‘wrestling’, ‘Krishna-the-socialist-wrestler’ and

contemporary ‘Yadav-wrestler/politicians’ enrich the political rhetoric developed
by Yadav caste associations and by political parties. The central focus of this
rhetoric is to instil self-respect (svabhiman) amongst ‘ordinary’ Yadavs. An
outcome of this is the emphasis given by young Yadavs to their muscular bodies
and to the creation of a goonda reputation within their neighbourhood and town.
Young Yadavs portray themselves as physically strong, powerful, brave and bold

28They often recall the story of Krishna who wanted to develop strength. He fed the milk
of ten thousand cows to one thousand cows. He then milked the one thousand cows and
fed their milk to one hundred cows. He then milked the one hundred cows and fed their
milk to ten cows, and finally fed the milk of these ten cows to one cow. Krishna then
drank this cow’s milk and he ate the combined energy of 11,111 cows.

75
and hence powerful and fearless. Ram Prasad Yadav (85 years old), once a
famous wrestler and today a patron of many of Yadav caste association activities,
proudly asserts that Yadavs in Mathura have regained respect since they began to
use their sticks {lathi) again.

If on the one hand ‘brute force’ is generally conceived as a legitimate way

of getting ‘respect’ and as an integral part of the Yadav public image, on the other
there are also dissenting voices, which mainly belong to elder Yadavs and non-
Yadav informants. These people do not approve of the use of ‘power’ of the
younger generations and of their political leaders. They often make a distinction
between bal (brute and raw strength) and shakti (power and energy). Young
muscular Yadavs are thus said to have bal but not shakti. Bal is considered a
purely physical energy. Gang leaders and anyone who makes a spectacle of his
strength or who uses strength to advance selfish interests is regarded as physically
strong but morally corrupted (see Alter 1997). These dissenting voices point out
how Yadavs are not respected, but feared. Despite these opposed opinions, it is
the physical strength and physical presence in the streets of Sadar Bazaar that
shape local Yadav public image and inform the public space within which most of
the Yadav political performances described in the following chapters have taken
place.

76
 Chapter 2
Competing Demands of Power and Status: from
‘Ahir’ to ‘Yadav’

Introduction

In the last thirty years, historians have widely documented how caste (as we know
it today) is ‘the product of history and particularly of colonial history’ (Fuller
1996: 5). Many have emphasised the role of colonial administrative classifications
and ethnographic knowledge in shaping and freezing identities along caste and
religious lines (Cohn 1990; 1996; Kaviraj 1992; Raheja 1999b; Pels 1997). By the
same token, the process of ethnicisation of caste is also often represented as a
novel reality rooted in colonial caste politics (Ghurye 1932; Srinivas 1962).
Similarly, there is extensive documentation of how colonial knowledge about
caste still plays a role in shaping political and social identities in post-independent
India (Dirks 2001; S. Bayly 1999). In particular, in recent years the colonial
legacy of contemporary caste reservation policies and its role in the reifying and
politicising of caste have been widely debated (Beteille 1992; Appadurai 1993).

If on the one hand it is impossible to summarise all the general literature

published on the subject, on the other there is a remarkable lack of works which
explore, both ethnographically and historically, how social classifications,
government policies and ‘official’ ethnography have empirically affected (and are
affecting) ideas and practices related to caste. In particular, to my knowledge
there are few anthro-historical studies (see Dube 1998 and Chowdhry 1994)
which illustrate the encounter between caste and colonialism on the one hand, and
post-colonialism on the other, from the perspectives of communities that have
actually been ‘classified’, ‘ethnicised’ and ‘politicised’ . 2 9 How do these processes

29 A number of socio-historical studies have explored the relation between specific caste
communities and colonial classifications. For example Conlon’s (1977) work on
Saraswat Brahmans, Leonard’s (1978) monograph on the development of the Kayastha
caste community, Washbrook’s (1975) study on caste organisation in South India and the
recent work of Datta (1999) on the formation of Jat identity. For an ethnographical

77
work empirically? How did (do) ‘classified people’ manipulate caste knowledge
and re-classify/essentialise themselves? Why do some castes find classificatory
models more attractive than others? And finally, which are the continuities and
changes from the colonial time to the present? These questions still need
systematic exploration.

The present chapter looks at the impact of administrative caste forms of

social classification and ethnographic knowledge on the construction of a Yadav
community. By exploring Yadav caste historiography through the lens of the
ethnography I recorded in the late 1990s, my aim is to elucidate the socio-cultural
relations that constituted and constitute the Yadavs’ understandings and uses of
particular texts, administrative categories and theories of caste (see Sundar 1999:
100-127 and Benef 1999). The chapter thereby unravels the central political-
ideological and socio-cultural features of the Ahir/Yadav caste/community and
highlights how they relate to colonial and post-colonial politics of caste
reification. This exploration shows how a specific folk theory of religious descent
has been shaping the way Ahir/Yadav caste associations and individuals
manipulated and manipulate caste forms of social classification.

The analysis of such complex relations departs from the ethnographic

exploration of the ways contemporary Mathura Yadavs use, manipulate and
understand the Other Backward Classes administrative classification. This
exercise highlights how a Yadav ‘community’ discourse based on descent allows
local Yadavs to simultaneously claim Other Backward Class status (which is
locally understood as synonymous with low caste and untouchables), and
Kshatriya (or Vaishya) status, without giving rise to contradictions. At present,
the policy of ‘protective discrimination’ no longer causes inconsistencies between
Mathura’s Yadavs competing demands of status and power. This perspective
contrasts significantly with past accounts. Till fifteen years ago a significant
number of Ahir/Yadavs in the Braj-Ahirwal areas viewed their inclusion in the
OBC list as incongruent with their claimed status of ‘Kshatriya’. In recent times
this ‘problem’ has been resolved.

exploration of caste community formations and their relation to post-colonial

classifications see Hardgrave’s (1969) study on the Nadars of Tamil Nadu and Molimd
(1988) on the Koris of Kanpur.

78
 Today, local Yadavs represent themselves as ‘sons of Krishna* as
‘Kshatriyas’ or as ‘Kshatriyas who behave like Vaishyas*. Mathura Yadavs do not
find it demeaning to be classified as members of the Other Backward Classes and
to describe themselves in petitions and memorandums as a Tow status’ and
almost ‘untouchable’ caste/community. This is because such classifications and
representations do not interfere with their self-image as sons o f Krishna. Today,
as descendants of Krishna, and as members of the ‘Yadav dynasty’, their social
status is proved by their distinctive ancestry and by the presumed quality of their
blood more than by purity-based hierarchy. Accordingly, amongst Mathura
Yadavs, the OBC representation is usually conceived of as another state resource
to be exploited. To make sense of this ethnographic data I ask the ‘Yadav archive’
why and how Yadav folk theories of religious descent were able to work so
effectively and, besides allowing the transformation of a congeries of lineages
into a fairly ‘homogenised’ community, contributed towards nullifying the
contradictions between competing demands of status and power? And, whether
the emphasis on descent and blood rather than on ritual purity should be
considered a ‘modem’ phenomena?

The argument of this chapter is discussed in two sections. To begin with I

document the internal heterogeneity and fragmentation of the Ahir/Y adav caste-
cluster, its ambiguous status, its traditional military Rajput-like culture and
descent view of caste. I show how such characteristics shaped the ways first the
pre-colonial Hindu-Muslim states and then the British classified the Ahirs.
Thereafter, I examine how the Ahirs’ specific socio-cultural features have
influenced the way the Yadav intelligentsia have read their colonial caste
representations and social classifications and then transformed a diversified
ethnographical portrayal into a homogenous and essentialised account of their
community. The chapter concludes by exploring contemporary Yadav
understandings of the category of Other Backward Classes and how it interrelates
with processes of Sanskritisation and community ethnicisation.

30 Srinivas has defined the process of Sanskritisation as ‘the process by which a “low”
Hindu caste, or tribal or other group, changes its customs, ritual, ideology and way of life
in the direction of a high, and frequently, “twice bom” caste’ (1972: 6).

79
The Ahirs: ‘ethnography’ in the archives from pre­
colonial times to Independence

Ahir/Yadav caste historiography illustrates a fluid and complex system. The

heterogeneity inherent in the caste, in terms of socio-economic and ritual status,
has been depicted in many ways by colonial ethnographies and the petitions and
memorandums which historically document the dialogue between the colonial
government and Yadav individuals or caste associations. Colonial ethnographers
left a legacy of hundreds of pages of ethnographic and ethnological details which
portray the Ahir/Yadavs as ‘Kshatriyas’, ‘martial’, and ‘wealthy’, or as ‘Shudras’,
‘cowherders, ‘milk sellers’ and low in status terms. In short there has been no
consensus on the nature of the Ahir caste/tribe.

Attention has already been drawn to the ambiguous status of pastoralist

groups which are generally constituted by large ‘yafr'-clusters’ scattered in
extended areas. Colonial ethnographers were undecided if they were ‘castes’ or
‘tribes’ (Tambs-Lyche 1997: 148; Basu 1957). In the case of the Ahirs, they also
wondered whether they were a ‘martial race’ or not, whether they were a
‘criminal tribe’, whether they were ‘Rajput’ or ‘Shudra’, and finally whether
herding and milking were pure or impure activities. During fieldwork I
discovered that such general ‘confusion’ is still a lively issue. Whenever I asked
non-Yadav informants for the rank of Yadavs in the local caste hierarchy, their
answers were systematically ill defined: ‘they are not real Rajputs but they do not
belong to the Shudra varna either’, or ‘they are chote (small/inferior) Rajputs’ or
more commonly ‘Yadavs are a bare ja ti’ (big/superior caste), or ‘they are not a
‘backward caste’. By the same token, almost without exception, Yadav
informants in Mathura think of themselves as Kshatriyas, as heirs of the local
Rajput kings, as dutiful former military clients of local kings and as descendants
of local martial hero-gods. In the following chapters I explore ethnographically
how the relation between Ahir and Rajput culture is today conceived and
expressed in everyday life. However, due to the paucity of historical sources, it is
impossible to fully reconstruct the history of their relations. The point of the
following discussion is, therefore, not to prove or to disprove the Ahirs’ Rajput
origin, and thereby to indulge in speculative history, but rather, to highlight the

80
complex socio-political dynamics at work in the Ahirwal-Braj area in the last two
hundred years. In addition, this section explores the implications that such
processes had in influencing the way Ahir/Yadavs represented and represent
themselves as well as the way ‘others’, first the Hindu-Muslim states, then the
British colonial officers and finally the post-colonial government, have chosen to
represent them.

Rajas, sepoys and cowherders: Rajput-like culture and the

making of the Ahir category

The status ambiguity of today’s Yadavs and their Rajput-like military culture and
religious traditions can be plausibly traced back to the historical phases that
witnessed the transformation of martial pastoralist communities into more defined
caste-like groups. In recent years, many historians have broken new ground in the
study of such important social dynamics (see Kolff 1990; C. Bayly 1983; S. Bayly
1999; Dirks 1987). The gradual employment of specific ‘caste’ titles by pastoral
warrior groups has been explained as an outcome of the formation of powerful
Rajput status groups and by the ensuing spread of ‘the Kshatriya ideal’ in the
Gangetic plains by the Moghul elite (S. Bayly 1999: 25-63). The Rajputs are
regarded as perfect exemplars of the Kshatriya varna, the Hindu social category
of rulers and warriors. By the ninth century AD, in West India, to be Rajput was
gradually linked to values of honour and shame and to a particular lifestyle and
social organisation centred on territory and lineage power (Thapar 1984; Fox
1971). Lordly elites were absorbed into the Mughal state structure by becoming
employed as tax collectors and military clients. This process implied the gradual
assimilation of a number of Mughal customs and practices. Importantly, Rajputs’
clients began to use bards to legitimate their ‘pure’ genealogy and aristocratic
pedigrees in the same fashion as their Muslim lords did (Kolff 1990: 72). As a
consequence, the language of kinship and descent began to be used by lordly
Rajputs to legitimate their being ‘aristocratic’. However, the marginal pastoral-
agricultural groups whose landholding rights were minor and who did not succeed
in acquiring ‘proper’ genealogical legitimisation were cut out from what Kolff

81
calls ‘the new Rajput Great Tradition’ and as a consequence their ‘Rajputisation’
was never fully achieved. 3 1

The social history of the Ahirs from the Ahirwal region provides an
exemplary case study in line with the broad trends mentioned above. On the one
hand it shows how a number of segments of the Ahir cluster were at times
included in ‘the new Rajput Great Tradition’ and on the other it shows how the
rest of the community maintained a ‘fringe-like Rajput culture’ through their
warrior songs, ballad and legends (see Chapter 5). In the first case, what we
observe is precisely the manipulation of the Kshatriya ideal that facilitated the
creation of internal subdivisions within what was the loose Ahir category. In the
Braj-Ahirwal area, by the early eighteenth century the Ahir title, rather than
defining a ‘caste’, was used as a description for people with a pastoral
background, with military power and with landholding rights. In this period the
label ‘Ahir’ was used by military recruiters of the Hindu-Islamic states to define a
‘status category’ with specific liabilities to military service, and as such it appears
in the Indo-Islamic revenue records (S. Bayly 1999: 40).J2

During the eighteenth century, the Ahirs of Ahirwal rose in prominence

and became military clients of what was an Empire in disintegration (Francklin
1803; Malik 1977). More specifically, the Yaduvanshi-Ahirs of Rewari, located in
the district of Mahendragarh (present Haryana state) were able, to a certain extent,
to be included within the emergent ‘Rajputs’ and within what the Mughals
recognised as ‘Rajput aristocracy’ . 3 3 Rao’s work (1977) provides a description of
the socio-political organisation of the little kingdom of Rewari. At the end of the

31 As Kolff points out, by focusing on the Rajputs of western India as the main ‘model’ of
‘Rajputness’, academics neglected the study of the marginal Rajput phenomena,
especially in Hindustan (1990: 72). This trend began with the historical and ethnographic
description of Rajasthan’s rajas by James Tod and by other British Officers, such as
Francis Hamilton who in the early nineteenth century produced the book: ‘Genealogies of
the Hindus Extracted from their sacred writings'. These works are a significant
expression of the British fascination with Kshatriya history, and it is a clear example of
how the British contributed to construction of the Kshatriya ‘ideal model’.
32 In the Mughal encyclopaedia Ain-i-Akbari, Ahirs are described as ‘cunning but
hospitable, they will eat food of the people of every caste, and are a handsome race,
quoted in S. Bayly (1999: 104).
33 Tambs-Lyche (1997: 60-95) describes similar socio-political dynamics amongst
Khatiwar’s Ahirs in Western India.

82
nineteenth century, Man Singh, a bard at the court of the Rewari kingdom wrote a
book entitled Abhir Kul Dipika (The Enlightenment of the Abhir Dynasty) . 3 4
Most of the following description draws from the work of Rao and from Man
Singh’s book which is considered one of the first Yadav self-historiographies. I
integrate these secondary and primary textual sources with interviews with
contemporary members of the former royal family.

The history of the Rewari family is of particular importance for the

present study. Their members were amongst the first promoters of the formation
of a Yadav community and today they still represent Yadav-Rajput heritage and
royalty. At the beginning of the eighteenth century, the Rewari kingdom was
established by an Ahir military chief, Rao Nandaram. He received a jagir
(assignment of land revenue) of 360 villages around Rewari, and the Mughal
emperor Farrukhsiyar (1713-19) conferred to him the title of Caudhri. ‘Status’ at
that time was strictly connected with military power. As already emphasised, the
Mughals constantly acknowledged the distinctiveness of the clans which claimed
to be Rajput by birth and blood. The Aphariya, the Kausaliya and the Kosa were
the major Ahir aristocratic clans who had direct contact with the Mughal state
representatives. They were locally conceived as Yaduvanshi-Kshatriya. The term
Yaduvanshi derives from Yadu, one of the ancestors of god Krishna. The royal
clans represented the Rewari kingdom as part of the mythical ‘Yadava Hindu
State’ and they portrayed themselves as descendants of Krishna, the ‘cowherder-
Rajput god’. They claimed to originate from Mathura town: Krishna’s birthplace
They named Rewari’s fort Gokulgarh and their coins Gokul sikka, in honour of
the village of Gokul where Krishna spent part of his childhood. Finally ‘they took
the name of Krishna in marching against their enemies’ (Rao 1977: 8 8 ).

The inclusion of Yaduvanshi-Ahirs in the local Rajput aristocracy implies

a change of marriage patterns. By the beginning of the nineteenth century, the
Rewari royal clans began to establish marital relations with acknowledged royal
lineages of Bikaner, in Rajasthan. These marital relations legitimised their being

34 The original is in Urdu. An original copy is with Col. Kamal Singh Yadav, Rewari. In
the 1990s, a Hindi edition of the book was published by the Rao Tula Ram Samark
Samiti and edited and translated by Rao Jasvan Singh. Throughout the text I use the
Hindi edition, Yadav-Abhir Kul Dipika.

83
‘aristocratic’ and ‘Rajput’. What we observe in the Rewari dynasty is a
manipulation of the Kshatriya ideal. The Ahir ‘royal’ clan of the Aphariya
became a reference point in the assertion of more formalised ranked groups. More
precisely, the Ahir clans’ social status was determined by their proximity to the
king. The royal clans had a prominent position and dominated the other
subdivisions and segments. The closer a clan was to the royal clan (in political
terms), the higher in status it was. 3 5 Nowadays, the Rewari raja is still taken as a
point of reference to judge the social status of the different Yadav subdivisions of
the Gangetic plains. It follows that the further we move eastwards, away from the
raja clans’ territory and from the traditional Ahir political centre, the lower the
traditional ritual status of the Yadavs is conceived. However, today, the Rewari
raj’s powerful image is in competition with a new centre of power -that created
by the new ‘democratic rajas' of the so-called Yadav belt. This shift has
dramatically influenced contemporary Yadav marriage patterns and processes of
fusion within the community (see Chapter 3).

The political organisation of the Ahir kingdom was based on clan-

territorial ties and marital alliances. The clans were locally organised under the
tappa system, a territorial grouping. The areas of the clans were controlled by
local dominant Ahir landlords. Rao (1977) describes two relevant clan typologies:
the ‘royal or chiefly clans’, which established small kingdoms and acted as
revenue collectors directly for the Mughal state, and the ‘sardar clans’, which
gained dominance on the basis of military service (sardar) to the royal clans. The
headman of the clan, the Caudhri (leader of the clans), controlled between 20 and
30 villages. These dominant clans were served by smaller clans which provided
military help and tax collection services at lower levels. Each clan had a compact
geographical area of its own and members of the same territorial clan were
considered as ‘brothers’. The villages had a joint land tenure system: a mixture of
"X (\
pattidari and bhaiachara systems.

35 See Dirks (1987) for a comparable ethnographic example.

36 In the pattidari system the shares of the estate are calculated on the basis of
genealogical reckoning from the founder of the estate; while in the bhaiachara system
they are distributed on the principle of equality. See B.H. Baden-Powell (1892).

84
 The stress on ‘brotherhood’ suggests the presence amongst the different
members of the community of a strong ideology of equality. At village level the
dominant lineage was the basis of social organisation. The maximal lineage was
divided into minor lineages and these formed the basis of thoks orpannas within
it. Representatives from each thok formed the council of the village. This council
was responsible for the collection of revenues. 3 7 The ‘networks of lineage-clan
ties and martial links played a significant part in the internal dynamics of power
relations within the Rewari kingdom. The clan areas had a high degree of internal
autonomy with external allegiance to the king’ (Rao 1977: 84). Moreover, this
structure was highly flexible, and a ‘sardar clan’ had the possibility of becoming
a chief clan and vice versa. Military force was of key importance in this status
process. In this ‘federative’ system the units of social mobility were individual
families (namely segments of lineages) rather than entire lineages, and the key
factor for social mobility was the ability to render military service to the king or
the emperor. Furthermore, different exogamous lineages could join together to
form localised subdivisions or they could split off and form smaller subdivisions
(cf. Rao 1989).

These dynamics are similar to the ones discussed by Fox (1971) in his
study of Uttar Pradesh Rajputs. Fox shows how the Rajput lineage was subject to
developmental cycles to maintain the balance between the lineage and the state
structure. However, Rao suggests that the alignments and cleavages in Ahirwal
were not always between networks belonging to the same kin group and social
category: ‘the framework resembles a federative structure with internal autonomy
and external controls or allegiance rather than segmentary structure’ (1977: 85).
Lineages, clans, subcastes and castes appeared, therefore, to be linked by a
federative framework rather than a segmentary one. Rival factions within a
lineage or a cluster of lineages led by individual leaders tended to draw their
additional political support from adjacent lineages. This created competing
alignments in which personal networks of influence and power ran along and
across clan/lineage networks. This process produced crosscutting loyalties within
the broad framework of the Ahir caste: ‘The lineage-clan areas provided the

37 A similar system was found among the Jats, see Pradhan (1966).

85
hinges for the operation of the federal organisation of the subcaste, and marital
organisation either followed or reinforced lines of political alignments’ (Rao
1977: 85). This pattern of organisation, to a larger extent, is today replicated in
the organisational structure of the All India Yadav Mahasabha. Different Ahir
subdivisions are united together under the Yadav banner by following a federative
pattern.

In short, by the early nineteenth century the Ahir pastoral ‘tribes’ were
composed of a number of subdivisions that were quite different in character and
were internally fragmented. Whereas some of them were regarded as ‘Rajput’ and
as having elaborated systems of closed marital ranks, for others norms of purity
and exclusive marriage practices were still unknown. At the beginning of the
nineteenth century the status differences between the royal lineages and the rest of
the community (known by the generic term of Goallas) were therefore partly
developed but still remained highly fluid. The difference between the
Yaduvanshi-Ahir clans and the Ahir-Goalla clans was that the former were direct
clients of the Mughal emperor whilst the latter were not part of the military
network. However, a Goallavanshi-Ahir was easily recognisable as Yaduvanshi-
Ahir after he had acquired military power and land (see Cunningham 1849: 7).

Such opportunities presented themselves on a large scale with the arrival

of the East India Company in Ahirwal in 1802. The arrival of the British resulted
in a loss of territory and prestige for the royal family of Rewari. 3 8 However, it
provided new opportunities for the members of the Ahir community who had so
far remained on the fringes of the Mughal political system. In the acquired Ceded
and Conquered territory, the East India Company began to establish its rule by
using Euroasian officers who recruited sepoys for their cavalry regiments amongst
the pastoral arms-bearing peasants. 3 9 The pastoral communities of Jats and Ahirs,
‘who were always well armed with lance, sabre and matchlock to brave the
incursions of their unsettled neighbours - the Gujars, Mewatis, Bhattis and

3 8 In 1805, the territory of the kingdom was reduced to 87 villages in istamari (perpetual

rent) and another part in sanad (grant). See K.C. Yadav (1967).
3 9 Among the most famous Euroasian officers: George Thomas, James Skinner and

William Gardner. See I.O.L., George Thomas Papers.

86
Rohilla and Afghan mercenaries’ (Alavi 1995: 236-37), were taught military
discipline in order to improve their indigenous fighting skills.

The East India Company constituted, therefore, a prestigious source of

employment not only for the aristocratic Ahirs of the ‘old military class’, but also
for the pastoral communities known in the area by the title ‘Goalla’. These
pastoral groups ‘...could remove the stigma of their pastoral background by
enlisting in their regiments and aspiring to the rank of Kshatriya and ashraf
(ibid.: 248). Skinner introduced the Mughal custom of granting yagzVs to the
valorous soldiers. On the basis of these jagirs groups of Jats, Gujars and Ahirs
started a career of upward social mobility (ibid.: 245). Unfortunately, there are no
documents available to quantify the number of Ahir-Goallas recruited by the East
India Company. There are, however, interesting data which did survive, namely
the paintings made by William Frazer for the Company, which illustrate Ahirs,
Jats and Gujars in their original herdsmen’s outfits waiting to be recruited (ibid.:
245). Skinner’s troops appear dressed up in uniforms tailored in the fashion of the
Mughal court dresses: the angarkha. This yellow dress was very similar to the
saffron dress of the Rajput soldiers. Alavi suggests that this was ‘to keep alive the
memory of the Rajput tradition’ (ibid.: 246) The Euroasian officers seemed to
succeed in turning peasants into ‘gentlemen-soldiers’. Their strategy not only
succeeded in expanding and establishing the authority of the Company, but also
contributed substantially to the elaboration of a military culture amongst the Ahir
of the area.

The Goallavanshi-Ahirs who gained military prestige and jagirs were

locally absorbed within the large Yaduvanshi-Ahir subdivision, a typical case of
lower-ranking groups being absorbed by higher and larger subdivisions in a
process of upward mobility. This shows how the process of transformation from
Ahir to Yaduvanshi-Ahir has its origins in pre-colonial India and was a direct
response to internal patterns present within the community. Smaller units tended
to be enclosed into bigger ones and by the same token clusters of lineages tended
to join together to form new localised and regional subdivisions. The status
process generated by this military culture was not limited to the Ahirwal region
but was also found in the nearby areas of the western United Provinces, where the
Ahirs worked as mercenaries for local kings and Thakurs (see Stokes 1978).

87
 The spread of such military culture contributed to the Kshatriya-like
image of the local Ahirs. In the next section I describe how, in the twentieth
century, the Kshatriya model was further reconstructed by the British who linked
it to the category of the ‘martial races’, and how the Ahirs of the Braj-Ahirwal
area reinterpreted and used it to be recruited to the British army. I explore how
Ahir military culture and Rajput-like culture inform in a particular way their
process of religious reform and the development of a united Yadav community.

‘Collecting the Ahirs9: official ethnographies and theories of caste

Recent historical research has documented how by the end of the nineteenth
century, with the abolition of the East India Company and the creation of a new
colonial administrative framework, the control of the British over Indian subjects
became stricter and more systematic (Raheja 1999b; Dirks 1992). It is widely
assumed that by this time British colonial administrators increasingly felt the need
to classify Indians as members of specific social, economic and occupational
categories, each possessing its own peculiarities and distinctive qualities. This
phenomenon is referred to as the process of ‘essentialisation’ of caste (Inden
1990). However, the data on the Ahirs do not conform to the common view that
colonial descriptions were mostly simplistic, and portrayed a homogeneous
version of ‘caste’. The Ahirs are in fact seldom described as a homogeneous
entity. A number of ethnographic descriptions of the Ahir are indeed sophisticated
and interesting. ‘Caste’ and ‘subcaste’ are not described as localised and bounded
social units with a similar homogeneous status. In contrast, they are described as
territorially widespread and internally differentiated in terms of wealth and power.
As a result, Ahirs are portrayed not as a rigid, bounded essentialist group, but
rather as a fluctuating, fluid and internally factionalised social category.

The compendium ‘Races o f the North-West Provinces' written by Elliot

(1869) presents one of the first colonial ethnographic descriptions of the Ahir
caste-cluster in the North-West Provinces. 4 0 Elliot portrays an internally fluid and

40For a critical exploration of the colonial archive and caste forms of knowledge see
Dirks (2001).

88
heterogeneous agricultural/pastoral ‘tribe’. The primary principle of classification
used for the census of 1872 and 1881 was that of varna (Dirks 2001: 202).
However, Elliot finds it problematic to classify the Ahirs within a unique varna
category: ‘In some localities they are described as sharing the same status of the
Rajputs, while in others Rajputs would indignantly repudiate all connections with
Ahirs’ (1869: 6 ). Further confusion arises when he attempts to assess the nature of
the differences between the Ahars, Aheriyas and the Ahirs and between the
different clans and subcastes.

In Elliot’s description ‘clan’, ‘subcaste’, ‘caste’, ‘tribe’ and ‘race’, are

used in an interchangeable way and it looks as though he finds it difficult to
isolate the social nature and functions of the different Ahir subdivisions. Finally,
following locality, Elliot categorises the Ahir agricultural-pastoral ‘tribe’ in three
main subdivisions: ‘there appear to be three grand divisions amongst them:- the
Nandabans, the Jadubans and the Gwalbans, which acknowledge no connection
except that of being all Ahirs. Those of Central Doab usually style themselves
Nandabans; those to the West of the Jumma and the Upper Doab, Jadubans; and
those in the lower Doab and Benares, Gwalabans’ (1869: 3). The Goallavanshi
are said to lack a clear cut clan division, while the Nandavanshi and Yaduvanshi
are said to share a centrality of territory defined by lineal kinship with similar
related castes, such as Jats, Gujars and Rajputs. These subdivisions are based on
mythological-ancestral claims and locality (see Chapter 3). The Yaduvanshi-Ahirs
are said to descend from Yadu, one of the ancestors of Krishna; the Nandavanshi-
Ahirs are said to be descendants of Nanda, the foster father of Krishna; and the
Goallavanshi-Ahirs, are said to be the descendants of the Gopi and Gopas
amongst whom the God Krishna spent his childhood on the banks of the river
Yamuna near Mathura. Elliot goes on to list the major clans (got) of the
Nandavanshi of Central Doab, and the major clans of the Ahirwal region.

Before exploring what permits the maintenance of a certain unity amongst

the Ahir caste cluster I examine the Ahirs’ internal heterogeneity and loose social
structure. In many ways, ‘the problems’ that colonial ethnographers and officers
encountered in classifying the Ahirs in formal descriptive and analytical
typologies mirror their unconventional horizontal organisation. Comments by
local officers from ‘the field’ reveal their inability to define consistent socio-
structural patterns within the Ahirs grouping. The lack of clear-cut endogamous
rules and the imprecise and ambiguous status of the caste as a whole were
amongst the main ‘problems’ that colonial officers seemed to face. Ahirs’
recurrent structural ambiguities seem in fact to represent a ‘hard task’ even for
such ‘classificatory’ masters as the colonial ethnographers. The Ahirs could noi
be classified as Rajputs because they did not follow the ‘prescribed’ Rajput codes
of conduct, or at least part of the community did not. However, to classify them as
Shudra would have neglected some of their ‘Kshatriya’ customs such as kin-based
organisation, hypergamous marriage patterns, martial attitudes and landholding
rights.

Such dilemmas were constantly reflected in the preparatory reports for the
census and in the documentation related to the implementation of specific policies
such as the Female Infanticide Act (1870), or the application of the ‘Martial
Races’ theory that guided the recruiting strategies of the ‘colonial’ government.
The search for ‘guilty’ and ‘criminal’ clans, and the search for ‘martial’ clans
within the Ahir community produced a valuable source of information on the
nature of the kinship organisation as well as on the status dynamics present within
the different Ahir subdivisions. This material also indicates that processes of
aggregation amongst different Ahir subdivisions are hardly new phenomena. As
mentioned previously, by the pre-colonial period small lineages, or clusters of
lineages, were continuously enclosed into larger ones in the process of social
mobility.

In the following sections I explore how the Ghosi and Kamaria

subdivisions began to be absorbed into the Nandavanshi social category, and then
the latter into the Yaduvanshi subdivision in the Braj-Ahirwal area. The analysis
of the transformation of these social status categories is relevant since the
ancestors of Ahir Para Yadavs belonged to them. An understanding of their social
nature in the past, and of their reactions to social forms of classification,
illuminates contemporary processes of substantialisation and their relation to caste
forms of social classification. This analysis also reveals how different theories of
caste shaped the way the Ahirs from the Braj-Ahirwal area were portrayed in the
‘official’ ethnographies and how such portrayals influenced the way Yadav
intellectuals and social reformers represent their caste community today. I refer

90
on the one hand to the functionalist schools led by ethnographers such as Crooke
(1896), Nesfield (1865) Ibbetson (1916) and Blunt (1931), and on the other to the
race theorists, such as Risley (1891, 1908); and to the ways in which Ahir/Y adav
intellectuals and social reformers tended to reformulate a ‘racial view of caste’
rather than an occupational one (see also Bayly 1995, 1999).41

Materialist and functionalist ethnographic portrayals

The implementation of the Infanticide Act generated a massive police control

over the Ahirs of the Ahirwal-Braj area. Such government policy produced a large
amount of data on the Ahir community, which were published in the 1881 and
1891 Census and in other reports. The Census of 1891 counted 1,767 types of
Ahirs (see Census of India 1891).42 Within this classification both endogamous
and exogamous groups were included. In the North Western Provinces eighteen
main ‘subcastes’ were counted. This documentation illustrates how the Ahir
caste/community was internally highly differentiated and fluid. The Ahir caste
was composed of hundreds of subdivisions and the latter were internally highly
heterogeneous in term of economic and political status. The documentation
related to the implementation of the Infanticide policy also shows how in
searching for ‘guilty castes’ colonial officers did not, on the whole, apply an
essentialised view of caste. In contrast, they often showed a great interest in
understanding the internal differences that existed within a single community, and
took into account the historical and social conditions that determined their ‘rank’
rather than assuming the latter as a given essence.

The letters and reports of local British officers clearly suggest that female
infanticide was in most cases related to hypergamy, status maintenance and
dowry avoidance. Castes such as Rajputs, Jats, Gujars and Ahirs were said to be

41For a comparative study on the reconfiguration of lineage discourses and the

emergence of racial social categories, see Dikotter’s work (1992, 1997) on modem
China.
42Such high numbers of subdivisions have been counted only amongst the Rajputs and
Pathan castes.

91
internally highly differentiated. The problem for those at the top of these castes
was caused by the fact that in addition to high dowries, the high status lineages
had to find eligible grooms in a restricted circle of elite families within their caste.
The emergence of royal houses amongst Ahirs in the eighteenth century meant
that the royal lineages were faced with an even more restricted circle for choosing
grooms for their daughters and perhaps resorted to extensive female infanticide
(Vishwanath 1998: 1105). As a consequence, higher status groups practised
female infanticide more extensively than lower status groups. The following are a
number of comments by British officers engaged in ‘collecting’ the Ahirs in the
districts of Etah, Aligarh, Farrukhabad and Mathura.

‘I have always found that Jats, Aheers, Ahars, etc, low castes claiming
to be Thakoors, need some special stimulus to commit this crime.
Either they are rich and so want no money in return for their daughters
and, consequently, begin to imitate the manners of the superior caste,
or they are demoralised by living in the vicinity of guilty high class
Thakoors’ . 43
‘So much is the practice of infanticide associated with the idea of
superiority that it has in recent times been accepted as a baggage of
that superiority apart from any other reason at all, and has been for
this reason practised by parvenu clans, like the Jats and the Ahir, in
order to establish their social status’ . 4 4

The Ahirs of the Braj-Ahirwal area were described as divided into clans and
lineages which were hierarchically ordered in economic and political terms. The
higher strata tended to claim Rajput (Thakur) status. However, the Ahirs’ clan
structure was generally not as defined as that of their Rajput counterparts. As a
British officer commented: ‘In dealing with Aheers, we cannot be guided in
deciding on guilt by the same principles as with Rajpoots. The crime must be
judged of by villages, and not by pargana {subordinate unit in revenue
administration). The same clannish feeling does not exist with Aheers as with
Rajputs’ (my emphasis) . 4 5 It follows that amongst the Rajputs, if members of a
clan were found guilty of female infanticide the entire clan was put under police
control. Conversely, in the case of the Ahirs the Infanticide Act was applied only

43 NAI Home Dept. Police A, October 1874, File 46-47.

44 NAI Home Dept. Police A, May 1874, File 9-12.
45 NAI Home Dept. Police A, August 1973, File 60-64

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to ‘villages’ or ‘clusters of villages’ occupied by the localised ‘portion’ of the clan
found to be ‘criminal’. This policy was justified by the higher territorial
fragmentation of the Ahir clans as compared to the Rajputs. Moreover, an Ahir
clan could be considered ‘guilty’ in one area and not in another since its status
depended on historical contingencies and was attached more to a segment of the
clan than to the entire clan.

On the whole, this documentation illustrates a phenomenon which is

familiar to other large, Rajput-like, caste communities. Pocock (1972) has
described that castes like Patidars (but also Rajputs, Bareias and Kolis, and
Marathas), which are usually large, territorially dispersed and informed by strong
ideologies of descent, present two interlinked characteristics. First, they are
subject to infiltrations at the lower level and secondly they can accept a
significant level o f ‘graduality* (Pocock 1957). The concept o f graduality
attempts to theorise the high level of heterogeneity, in terms of wealth, power and
ritual, existing within a caste. When size, graduality (economic and social), and, I
would add, highly valued paternal descent, are combined, endogamy is not a rigid
practice and it is accompanied by preferential hypergamy. In the next sections I
illustrate how this status game led to the absorption of the Kamaria and Ghosi
social categories into the larger subdivision of the Nandavanshi and of the latter
into the Yaduvanshi subdivision. In so doing I describe how such processes were
influenced by the Infanticide Act and by British recruitment policy in the army.

From Ghosi and Kamaria-Ahirs to Nandavanshi-Ahirs: processes o f

fusion

The Ghosis, Kamarias, Phataks and Nandavanshi-Ahirs are the largest Ahir
subdivisions in the Braj-Ahirwal area. The majority of my Mathura Yadav
informants say they originally belonged to these subdivisions. However, today
they do not describe themselves as Ghosi-Ahirs, or as Kamaria-Ahirs, but as
Yaduvanshi or Krishnavanshi-Yadavs. Such changes mirror a long process of
fusion between different subdivisions. Small lineages or clusters of lineages have
been enclosed into larger status categories. The Ghosi, the Kamaria and the

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Nandavanshi-Ahirs did not have well-defined endogamous rules. Internal
differentiations in terms of wealth and power were continuously readjusted by
hypergamous marriage strategies which facilitated the assimilation of lower status
groups into higher ones. The prominence of ‘class segments’ within the caste
stimulated internal social mobility (Hardgrave 1968: 1065). In addition, the
control of the British on female infanticide facilitated the formation of larger
status groups with strong endogamous features. It is plausible to suggest that
clans/lineages at the top of the ladder who were forced to stop killing their
daughters had to expand their field of endogamy and create a marriage circle of
equal clans/lineages (Parry 1979: 244).

The following are extracts from a report written by a government

administrator working in the Etah district in 1873. The descriptions provide data
on the nature of the social differences existing between the Ghosi and Kamaria
subdivisions in the Etah district. The Kamaria and the Ghosi are described as two
separate ‘tribes’. ‘They (Ahirs) are all either Ghosi or Kamariya and the name
Kamariya is not that of a mere got, such as the Sembarphula, Bhodita, Diswar,
Jhinwariya and Barothe’ . 4 6

The Kamaria subdivision is described as an endogamous group and as

having a lower status than the Ghosi:

‘The Ghoshi claim pre-eminence for themselves, and say that they are
mentioned in the sacred books under the name of Ghoshas, whilst the
Kamariyas are nowhere alluded to. They (Ghosis and Kamarias)
smoke from the same hukka, but cannot eat kacca-khana or cooked
food together, but only pakka khana. In both tribes each got is in
theory equal in dignity. The social habits of the Ahirs are the same as
those of other Sudras’ (my emphasis) . 4 7

Other documents underline that by the end of the nineteenth century the
differences between the two groups were disappearing.

‘A very old intelligent Aheer in Nugla Datte, near Achalpur, told me

he had been informed by his father that the Ghooses and Kumheriyas
used to recognise distinction in eating and drinking, but that they
gradually became less exclusive in recent times. He himself said he

46 NAI Home Dept. Police A, August 1874, File No. 60-64.

47 NAI Home Dept. Police A, September 1874, File No. 27-31

94
 noticed that the distinctions so strongly marked when he was a boy
have gradually become obliterated during the last 2 0 years’ .4 8
‘From inquiry I find that the old man’s story contains much truth.
Many of the lower class of Aheers have abandoned the restrictions as
to eating and drinking together, though the better class still observe
them. A respectable Ghosee will eat “paka” khana, such as puris, with
a Kumheriya, but he will not join in “kachcha khana”, such as eating
chuppatees with him. Kumheriyas and Ghosees now smoke out of the
same hukka. The Ghosees seem to think themselves a grade above
Kumheriyas. In only two instances I have found Ghosees and
Kumherias living together in the same village. Among the Ghosees
and Kumheriya each got is in theory equal in dignity, and it is
universally admitted by the highest class Aheers that their only guide
in contracting suitable marriages is purse pride’ (ibid.).

The following is instead a description of the nature of the Nandavanshi

subdivision:

‘It may have been a generic term for all the Ahirs, and it probably
was, but it certainly has any specification now... on the other hand the
Nandabansi, who claim the name as distinct from the Ghose will give
you fine distinctions as for instance that they give daughters to the
Ghose, but that none of their sons marry a Ghose girl’ (ibid.).

The British officer further affirmed that, among the Ghosis, the Nandavanshi title
was quite a prestigious one as well as a synonym of landholder:

‘The Ghose zamindars usually use ‘the self-laudatory epithet of

Nandabanshi’ ...and they find wives for their children among
wealthier and consequently more respected families, who have also
assumed the appellation under such circumstances’ (ibid.).

From these data it appears that the Nandavanshi title was a prestigious one,
adopted by local wealthy landholders. By the end of the nineteenth century the
Nandavanshi social category was in the process of absorbing the wealthy Ghosi
lineages. This process was accelerated in the following decades. The continuation
of this process through the twentieth century and in particular the impact that the
recruitment policy of the British army had on these categories will be analysed in
the next section.

NAI Home Dept. Police A, May 1874, File No.9-12. See also NAI Home Dept. Police
48

A, July 1876, File No. 37; Home Dept. Police A, June 1876, File No 29-39.

95
The Yaduvanshi as the martial Ahirs: military culture and racial
theories

After the Indian Mutiny of 1858, the Ahirwal region became an important
recruiting ground for the British Army. In the same period there was a general
push to identify the ‘manly races’ and to identify the ‘castes’ with appropriate
martial qualities (Omissi 1994; McMunn 1911). The Yaduvanshi-Ahirs of
Ahirwal together with Jats, Gujars and Rajputs, were identified as a ‘martial race’.
The colonial government codified the qualities that a perfect soldier should
possess. The recruiting handbooks, i.e. ethnographic guides meant to help the
recruiting agents on the ground, emphasised the masculine qualities of the martial
races and opposed them to the weakness and ‘effeminacy’ of those who were
excluded. One feature common to these various ‘martial’ communities was their
presumed Aryan origin. The British regarded some of their favourite martial races
as the descendants of Aryan invaders. Castes were described as ‘races’,
particularly in the case of Rajputs, who had supposedly ‘...maintained their Aryan
racial ‘purity’ through the caste system’ (Omissi 1994: 32).

The Ahirs, together with Jats, Gujars and Rajputs, were considered to be
tribal groups originally who had come under the influence of Hinduism and had
then become castes (see Kolenda 1978: 21). In this way their tribal customs,
which they retained in their internal organisation, were causally explained. A
certain kind of kinship and political organisation appears to characterise these
‘tribal’ castes. Jats, Ahirs, Gujars and Rajputs were divided into patricians, which
were patrilocal, patrilineal and exogamous. The Ahirs, however, fall in to an
ambiguous category. They were considered a ‘tribal’ caste but also a ‘functional
caste’. Blunt distinguished between ‘tribal’ and ‘functional’ castes. The functional
castes were said to be composed of persons following the same occupation (for
example Sonars (goldsmiths), Nais (barbers). The tribal/race castes were, instead,
composed of persons who were, or believed themselves to be, united by blood and
race (for example Jat, Gujar, Pasi...). However, the Ahirs were described as
difficult to classify. They had a well-defined occupation (cattle-owning), yet a
tribal origin and social organisation (Blunt 1931: 3).

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 The Ahirs have been equated with the Abhira tribes (Bhandarkar 1911:
16) who were considered to be immigrant tribes from Central Asia and
supposedly entered India before the beginning of the Christian era (Rao 1979:
124). Rao (ibid.: 126) has pointed out how one of the most debated issue amongst
Yadav ‘historians’ is whether the Abhira are of Aryan origin or not. ‘The
significance of this debate is that if it is proved that the Abhiras are not Aryans,
then the Yadav claim would fall, as the Yadavas were Aryans’ (ibid.). Nesfield
ascribed Aryan origins to the Ahirs but this was contested by Bhandarkar (1911).
These views were challenged by Ahir/Y adav caste literature. As the next section
describes, by the mid-nineteenth century the Ahir/Yadav ‘historians’ had
produced publications in which they argued for the Aryan origins of the Abhiras,
and therefore of the Ahirs (see Khedkar 1959; R. Pandey 1968; K.C. Yadav
1967).

The controversial ‘ethnic’ origin of the Ahirs had a bearing on the

assessment of their ‘martial’ qualities. Sir George MacMunn (1911) describes the
Ahirs in the text ‘The Martial Races of India’ as:

‘...a respectable Hindu class rather than a race, but they keep
themselves to themselves, and are one of the most reputable classes in
their districts in a minor way..., they cannot be described as one of the
martial races of renown, yet their reputation is growing’ (1911: 283).

However, Bingley (1937), one of the Ahir ‘experts’ of the time and author of the
recruitment ‘Handbook for Jats, Gujars and Ahirs’, often stresses how distinctions
amongst the Ahirs were social and historical rather than ethnic. 4 9 Accordingly, he
described some of the subdivisions within the Ahirs as ‘martial’:

‘Ahir make excellent soldiers. They are manly, without false pride,
independent without insolence, with reserved manners but good
nature, light hearted and industrious. They are always cheerful and are
the sort of people who habitually make the best of things. They are
reliable, steady and of uniformly excellent character. After ten years
of experience of them, I emphatically endorse the opinion that Ahirs
are eminently fitted for the profession of the arms...When you come
over the names of the martial races of India and think of the Gurkha,
Rajput, Sikh, Brahmins, Dogra, Jat, Pathan, Punjabi Muhammadan,
do not forget the Jadubansi Ahirs’. (Bingley quoted in AIYM
Platinum Jubilee Year 1924-1999,1999: 39)

49 For an exploration of Bingley’s work see Raheja (1999a).

97
Thus, Bingley considered the Yaduvanshi-Ahirs of Ahirwal as suitable for
recruitment but not the Nandavanshi-Ahirs and the Goallavanshi-Ahirs of other
localities in the Gangetic plains. The Nandavanshi-Ahirs of the Central Doab and
the Goallavanshi-Ahirs of Oudh were not recruited. The application of this policy
found its apotheosis in the publication of a list of ‘Gots of Ahirs preferable to the
others fo r purpose o f recruitment ’ (1937: 87-90). It is worth summarising the
different criteria applied for the compilation of the list. How were the ‘purest’
clans identified, and which other idioms, besides belonging to a ‘martial’
‘race’/clan, were used to assess the new recruits? ‘Clan membership’ and ‘rank’
were supposed to be tested by a series of questions. The Ahir candidate was asked
his got, his place of birth and his family’s place of origin; the name of the got of
his mother and the name of the got from where members of his family were
married and finally what kind of food he ate and cooked by whom. In the case of
the Ahirs, this process of assessment was not as easy and straightforward as it
used to be for the Rajputs and Jats:

‘The Ahir clans do not correspond exactly to those of the Jats, their
clans represent families rather than subdivisions of people’. ‘As a rule
when asked what kind of Ahir a youth is he will sometimes reply
‘Jadubansi’ but he is nearly always ignorant of his got. The only ready
test as to his sept is to ask whether is has any relation in Rajputana,
Eastern Punjab or in Meerut and Bulandshar districts’ (1937: 46-48).

Clan membership was, therefore, not a guarantee of martial qualities. The place of
origin was at times considered more important than the clan membership:

‘Soil and climate, etc. play an important part in alterations in physique

and martial character and there is no doubt that the Ahirs of the East
and the Gangetic plain do not compare favourably with their brethren
of the West’ (1937: 47).

Pure racial origin and locality were accompanied by another important criterion,
the social status of the got or family to which the candidate belonged. This
implied that some members of particular martial clans were considered more
suitable than others because of their local social status, shaped by the history of
their lineage and family.

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 Both recruitment officers and ethnographers working in the area
recognised that being Rajput, and therefore ‘martial’, was often not only a matter
of ‘blood’, but was linked to the economic and political power of the lineage and
therefore to historical context. Ibbetson (1916) explored the complex link between
localities, political power and status in his ethnographic compendium of south­
east Punjab. 5 0 He conceived caste titles such as Jat, Rajput, Ahir and Gujar as
‘occupational’ rather than precise ‘ethnological’ categories. Segments of
particular castes were recognised as Rajputs when they attained political
relevance (Bayly 1995: 212). It follows that Jats, Ahirs and Gujars were included
in the ‘Rajput’ category wherever they had landholding rights, not only because
of their insistence on their Rajput ancestry but also because their presumed
ancestry was supported by evident high social and economic status. In contrast,
the local Ahir intelligentsia emphasised blood and descent as the basis to prove
their fighting capabilities as well as to promote the constitution of a Yadav caste
community in northern India. Being Yaduvanshi-Yadavs and therefore apt to fight
was, for them, a matter of blood and not of socio-economic status and locality.

Yadavs and the British army: the emergence of the Ahir

Kshatriya Mahasabha

The British recruitment officers regarded the Yaduvanshi-Ahirs as the authentic

‘martial’ Ahirs both on the basis of their socio-economic status and their
presumed Rajput ancestry. This recruitment policy, which aimed at keeping a
relation between clan status and army rank, was popular till the First World War
(see Parry 1979: 273). Before this time, the Nandavanshi and Goallavanshi-Ahirs
were hardly enlisted in the Army, except as bullock-drivers in the artillery. The
first Ahir caste associations were set up with the specific agenda of lobbying the
colonial government for the recruitment of all Ahirs into the army, without any
discrimination between subdivisions.

50See 1881 Census of Punjab, published in 1883 under the title Punjab Ethnography. A
portion of the report on the races, caste and tribes was published as Punjab Castes in
1916. Ibbetson was the Settlement Officer of the Kamal district. The second important
documentation on the Ahirs of Haryana is Rose’s work (1919).

99
 By the early twentieth century, the Ahirs entered public life as political
actors, schoolteachers, social reformers, lawyers and sepoys. Many of them began
to disseminate the idea of a homogeneous community among Ahir society.
Accordingly, all the Ahir subdivisions were said to be descendants of the lineage
of Yadu, the ancestor of Krishna. Hence, all the Ahirs were Yaduvanshi and no
substantial differences were supposed to exist within the community. This was
based on the common supposition that the ‘Yadav* subdivisions were the outcome
of the fission of an original and undifferentiated group, i.e. the descendants of the
god Krishna. This folk theory of descent contributed to the transformation of
different endogamous groups into a modem Yadav caste community. Since the
end of the nineteenth century, Yadav ‘historians’, social reformers and ideologues
have been shaping the Ahir folk theory of descent to unite hundreds of scattered
pastoral groups under the ‘Yadav umbrella’. The result has been the creation of a
dignified Yadav past and a pure genealogical pedigree based on religious symbols
and ‘historical’ evidence (see Chapter 5).

One of the first steps towards the formation of a united all-India Yadav
community was the demand to the British Indian Army for an increase in the
quota of Ahirs recmited. The Rewari royal family played an important role in
representing the interests of Ahirs in the army. In 1898, Rao Yudisther Singh (the
head of the former Rewari royal family) sent a petition to the Viceroy requesting
an increment in the quota of Ahirs in the Hyderabad Regiment. 5 1 Even prior to the
Afghan War (1878-80), the Ahirs were enlisted in the Bengal and Bombay army.
Nevertheless, by the late nineteenth century their military history has been strictly
linked with that of the Hyderabad Regiment (from 1952 renamed Kumaoun
Regiment) (Burton 1905).52 The recruitment of the Ahirs increased after 1904 and
during World War I. During the first decade of the twentieth century Ahir
recruitment was further increased by Rao Balbir Singh, son of Rao Yudhishter
Singh. He was a Captain in the army and was granted the title of Rao Bahadur for
his services as a Recruitment agent. In 1910 the Ahir Kshatriya Mahasabha was

51The representative members of the royal family after the Mutiny acted as zaildars of
pargana Rewari as well as recruiting agents. See Gurgaon District Gazetteer (1911).
In 1897, the Ahirs represented 25 per cent of the second and fifth companies (the 95th
52

Russell’s Infantry and the 98thRussell’s Infantry) of the Hyderabad Regiment.’

100
established in Rewari and the newsletter ‘Ahir Gazette’ began to be published
from Etawah town. During the founding meeting of the Ahir Kshatriya
Mahasabha the founding fathers of the Sabha placed the sacred text of the
Bhagavad Gita in the place of the president. This was to symbolise that Krishna
was the president of the Sabha and the president of the Yadavs (see Chapter 5). It
was with the establishment of the Ahir Kshatriya Mahasabha that Ahir elites
coming from different localities in northern India began to cooperate.

The first such act of collaboration occurred between the Ahirs of Rewari
and those of the districts of Mathura, Mainpuri, Etah and Etawah. The Ahir
Kshatriya Sabha’s main goal was in fact to promote the recruitment of the
Nandavanshi-Ahirs from western Uttar Pradesh. In 1910, one regional meeting
was held in Kasganji (district of Farrukhabad) and in Shikoabad (district of
Mainpuri). In 1909, in Bihar, the local Ahirs organised themselves in the Gop
Jatiya Mahasabha and they soon organised inter-regional meetings with the Ahirs
of Uttar Pradesh and south-east Punjab. 5 3

The main requests put forward in these regional meetings was that all the
Ahirs (Yaduvanshi, Nandavanshi and Goallavanshi) were to be recognised as
equally eligible to be recruited to the army. Accordingly, mythological and
historical accounts were put forward to convince the British officers that all the
Ahirs were of the same ‘stock’ and equally ‘Kshatriya’ (i.e. martial). The Ahir
recruitment agents seemed to be sympathetic to the mythological evidence
provided by the Nandavanshi-Ahirs; this in particular, during the First World
War, when they were in need of large numbers of soldiers.

The most common myth put forward by the Nandavanshi-Ahirs tells the
following story. The son of Yadu had two wives, one of Kshatriya origins and one
Vaishya origins. From the Kshatriya wife, Vasudev was bom, who then became
the father of Krishna. The Vaishya wife’s son was named Nanda and became the
foster father of Krishna. The story goes on by narrating that a large number of
Krishna’s descendants believed that Krishna was Nanda’s son and accordingly

53 See AIYM, Minutes of meetings and resolutions 1924-1999; and also NAI Home
Political, Part B, May 1916, File 269. Resolutions passed at the 6th session of the Gope
Jatiya Mahasabha held at Bankipur, expressing sentiments of loyalty to the British
government and prayingfor the grant of certain concessions for the Gope community.

101
they called themselves Nandavanshi. This story attempts to show that there was
no ‘essential’ difference between the Nandavanshi and Yaduvanshi-Ahirs, except
in their names. During the course of the First World War the Army began to
accept Ahir soldiers of doubtful ancestry. In this period, Ahirs found advantages
in playing up claims of superior clan origins. Members of the Ahir caste who
wished to be employed in the army learned to tell the recruitment agents that they
belonged to the Yaduvanshi-Ahirs and not to the Nandavanshi or Goallavanshi
subdivisions. Bingley (1937) suggests that many Nandavanshi-Ahirs, knowing
that Yaduvanshi-Ahirs were accepted in the Army, claimed to belong to the latter
division. By 1915, in Etawah, the Ahirs are said to ‘have been trying to pass
themselves as Rajputs’ . 5 4 The data of the Census reports seem to confirm this
trend. In Etah district, the 1908 census recorded 470 Yaduvanshi-Ahirs and
23,434 Nandavanshi. In the years 1914-19, the same district provided a large
number of so-called Yaduvanshi in newly raised battalions of the Hyderabad
Regiment. By 1915, their number rose from 470 to 62,266 (Bingley 1937: 48-49).
The same trend was recorded in the districts of Mainpuri, Farrukhabad and
Etawah (see Census of India 1901 and Census of India 1911).

In many ways, the change of recruitment policy acknowledged that the

Ahirs of the Gangetic plains shared the same martial essence and it indirectly
contributed to the formation of a Yadav community. This transformation can be
viewed as a perfect example of a response to colonial essentialising practices and
of how state policies can refashion social groupings. Although, as others have
already acknowledged, it seems that British colonial perceptions just added a
further dimension to concerns that were already there (S. Bayly 1999:102).

As mentioned above, long before the arrival of the British and during the
early colonial period, the idea that all Ahirs shared a common ancestry and a
Rajput culture was solidly engrained in the social landscape of the Braj-Ahirwal

54 NAI Home Dept. Political Deposit, September 1915, File No. 57

NAI Home Dept. Political Deposit, April 1917, File No. 60. ‘In the east of the Province
Ahir are offering themselves. The commission of Allahabad thinks that Indian
volunteering is not likely to be much of a success without some direct stimulus though in
the case of castes like Ahirs and Kurmis the movement may spread spontaneously and if
it does it might become even embarrassing from the number offered’.

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area. These ideas were accompanied by the loose structure of the Ahir caste
which facilitated aggregative processes legitimised by a common myth of origin.
Despite their heterogeneity, the different caste groupings which composed the
Ahir caste-cluster recognised a common origin in Mathura and the dynasty of the
god Krishna. By the beginning of the nineteenth century, Buchanan had in fact
already recorded the Goallas (Ahirs) of Bihar claiming to descend from Krishna
(Pinch 1996: 85).55 This is consistent with the claims of the Yaduvanshi-Ahirs of
Rewari who, by the end of the eighteenth century, were also claiming Krishna
ancestry. These data therefore suggest that the identification with Krishna
predates the twentieth-century campaign for the creation of a united Yadav
community under the name of Krishna. This Ahir indigenous folk model of
representation based on patrilineal descent and common stock was actively
reconfigured by the Yadav intellectuals. They privileged the understanding of
caste illustrated by racial theorists over those represented in the ethnographies of
Ibbetson and Crooke. In the following section I show how Yadav ‘historians’
internalise and adapt racial theories of caste to their project and how this is related
to pan-Indian movements such as Hindu nationalism and neo-Hindu reformist
movements such as the Arya Samaj.

The politics of reading and ‘re-writing’: competing

demands of status and power

The transformation of all Ahirs into Yaduvanshi-Yadavs was promoted by the All
India Yadav Mahasabha which was founded in 1924. The AIYM federated
regional associations based in Uttar Pradesh, Punjab and Bihar and invited all the
pastoral castes of India to unite together on the basis of their common ancestry
and to adopt the Yadav surname (Rao 1979). In order to unite castes with
different ritual status, the Mahasabha promoted their transformation into pure
Krishnavanshi-Yadavs. Yadav ideologues attempted to nullify internal caste
hierarchies and cultural differences within the community by encouraging the

55 Buchanan. Bihar Patna, 1813-1813,1: 326-327.

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adoption of Sanskritic forms of Hinduism and the spread of a unifying ‘past’
linked to the ancestor Krishna (see Chapter 4) . 56

This reformist aspect of the movement which drew its energy from the
ideological repertoire of the neo-reformist movements such as the Arya Samaj
(Rao 1979; Datta 1999) and Vaishnava devotional movements (Pinch 1996), was
complementary to the building of a Yadav Kshatriya-Krishna past. The epic
Krishna, the advisor of Aijuna in the Bhagavad Gita was chosen as the Yadav
icon rather than Krishna-the-cowherder-lover of Braj. Such choice reflected an
ongoing process of puritanisation of Hinduism (see Chapter 5). Krishna has been
‘purified’ by neo-Hindu reform movements, which have attempted ‘to demolish
Krishna as the personification of the sensual and mystical strand o f Hinduism’
(Lutt 1995: 149). The puritanisation of Krishna was accompanied by emphasis on
the adoption of pure behaviours. Thus, Yadav caste associations and social
reformers encouraged the adoption of a vegetarian diet and teetotalism and the
rejection o f ‘evil customs’ such as blood sacrifice, spirit possession, female
infanticide, child marriage and widow remarriage. Similarly, the substitution of
lineage-clan god cults with the cult of Krishna was encouraged (see AIYM
minutes and resolutions 1924-1999).

However, Yadav caste reformers did not exclusively think of ‘social

purity’ as an expression of higher rank. The adoption of pure norms and values
was also understood as necessary for the re-establishment of the ‘pure’ Yadav
(Aryan) original essence and to create relatedness within a highly heterogeneous
community. By transforming all the Ahirs, Goallas and Gopas into vegetarians
and followers of a Sanskritic form of Hinduism the purity-pollution barriers and
cultural differences existing within the community were supposedly eradicated
and thus inter-subcaste marriages were rendered theoretically possible.

I suggest, therefore, that Ahir/Yadav process of Sanskritisation (i.e.

adoption of higher forms of Hinduism) should be understood as complementary to
the elaboration of a powerful ethnic discourse. Contrary to other caste movements
which chose either the path of Sanskritisation or the path of ethnicisation (see
Jaffrelot 2000), Ahir/Yadavs simultaneously attempted to forge a community

56 For the concept of Sanskritic Hinduism see Srinivas (1965).

104
front and to uplift themselves in the caste hierarchy. They did so by remodelling a
primordial discourse centered on Krishna. In this rhetoric Krishna becomes a kind
of ‘ethnic’ unifying symbol, a community deity and also a vehicle of Kshatriya-
isation. In this way traditional processes of upward mobility (i.e. Sanskritisation)
are not disjoined from the constitution of a separate collective identity. The
following sections unfold this argument.

Reshaping primordialism

This section outlines how the AIYM promoted an ethnic discourse by creating a
collective history. The creation and diffusion of a Yadav ‘history’ was conducted
through the publication of caste literature (books, pamphlets and newsletters),
local newspapers and caste meetings at local, regional and national level. During
the colonial period, the amount of caste publications that portrayed the glorious
and noble Yadav was indeed large. 5 7 Such texts cited early colonial ethnographies
(especially Census reports) in order to show their audience how numerous the
Ahir/Yadav caste was. Moreover, Yadav historiographies quoted and paraphrased
simultaneously Hindu epic works such the Mahabharata and the Bhagavad Gita
and the ethnographic and the ethnological works of Elliot (1869), Crooke (1896),
Ibbetson (1916) and Bingley (1937).

The narratives of social reformers and caste leaders transformed the

diversified colonial ethnography and mythological texts into an immutable and
essential tradition which told the story of an undifferentiated body of Yadavs.
Yadav authors did not attempt to criticise these sources or to historicise them but
rather they ‘accumulated’ them one after the other in mythical/historical
sequences. These narratives are marked by a similarity of structure, language and
content. Repetitiveness, which is so characteristic of essentialist rhetoric, is
another constant (see G. Pandey 1995). The authors seem to pile up any available
detail to prove that the Yadavs were an ‘ancient’, ‘successful’, ‘numerous’ and

57 See D.S. Yadav (1915); N.P.Yadav (1921); Khedkar (1959); B.P.Yadav (1928). A
number of these texts are collected in the vernacular section of the India Office Library,
London.

105
‘historically relevant’ community (or race) with exceptional qualities and
characteristics.

These texts generally begin with the history of the Aryans and their social
system; they move on to describe the history of the mythical Yadavs and the life
and achievements of their most famous member, the god Krishna. Finally, they
describe the history of the Abhira tribe, of the Rewari Ahir kingdom and of the
achievements of contemporary Yadavs. Mythological, ethnographic and
orientalist details, even if amassed within a pseudo-temporal framework, produce
the effect of an ahistorical tale about Yadav tradition rather than its history.
Mythological narratives present the community as beyond time and space. This
suspension in time, however, is punctuated by a pseudo-chronological order
which traces phases of the Yadav history that last millions of years. Mythical
events (in this case also religious beliefs, see Chapter 4) inform the text with an
aura of religiosity. The brave acts of Lord Krishna are accompanied by the heroic
actions of Yadav historical figures such as Rao Tula Ram (the last Raja of the
Rewari kingdom). Sections are also devoted to the Yadavs’ social system, social
life, rituals and family life. Colonial caste compendia are plagiarised and absorbed
in the ahistorical narrative of the texts. Entire sections are then devoted to Yadav
Cultural Achievements and to their Outstanding Characteristics (Khedkar 1959:
XI). Moreover, throughout all the texts authors underline how contemporary
Yadavs are the descendants, and the replacements, of their mythical ancestors and
as such they possess the same characteristics and predispositions.

Emphasis is, therefore, placed on descent. Genealogical charts that trace

the bloodline of the present Yadavs to their god Krishna and to famous Yadava
kings and princes are invariably present. Lists of the different Ahir/Yadav clans
generally follow the mythical genealogical trees. The long sections devoted to
clans can appear contradictory in a text whose main aim is to portray Yadav unity
and homogeneity. However, Yadavs do not see their clan structure as divisive and
this is because clans are exogamous and do not prevent the amalgamation of the
whole Yadav community. The central ideological theme is that all Yadavs
ultimately descend from Krishna and that they share the same essence and blood.
On the whole such narratives seem to accord well with the Yadav conception of
caste, which traditionally places much weight on religious descent and quality,

106
and distinctiveness of blood. In such systems birth is believed to transmit essential
and natural qualities. I suggest that the way Ahir/Yadav caste leaders have re­
interpreted the material offered by the colonial administrators is socially and
culturally informed by such views.

Sons of Krishna: the politics of ‘blood9 and ‘numbers9

The main goal of the theory of religious descent sponsored by the AIYM is to
promote the creation of a numerically strong Yadav community by including
more and more castes, clans and lineages into the Yadav category or, as their
rhetoric says, into ‘the Yadav race’. I call this process: Yadavisation. This
sociological phenomenon is based on the assumption that all the descendants of
Krishna share the same substance and are therefore Yadavs. The following is an
extract from a speech held at a Mahasabha meeting. Its content exemplifies Yadav
descent ideology and a primordial understanding of their community.

‘We have assembled here from different parts of the country. We

speak different languages, quite alien to each other. Our habits and
customs are different but we feel one-ness and brotherhood among
ourselves where we think that we are the descendants of Krishna. The
same blood is running in our veins’ (Presidential address, AIYM 49th
Convention, Madras, 1983 (Originally in English)).

I suggest that in Yadav rhetoric the figure of Krishna has been historically used as
‘a unifying historical ancestor’ rather than exclusively as symbol of higher
Kshatriya status, as has been commonly portrayed (see for example Rao 1979 and
Jaffrelot 2000). Several petitions sent by Ahir individuals and Ahir/Y adav Sahhas
to the colonial government support this proposition. Yadav caste associations’
petitions to the British representatives did not exclusively demand the recognition
of the Yadavs as Kshatriya, but rather they demanded separate enumeration for
their community and asked for the merger of several pastoral subdivisions into the
Yadav caste appellation (see Census of India 1921). Here, demographic issues
rather than issues related to ‘ritual status’ and Sanskritisation were indeed
privileged.

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 During the 1920s Ahir/Yadav social leaders and politicians soon realised
that their ‘number’ and the official proof of their demographic status were
important political assets on the basis of which they could claim a ‘fair’ share of
co
state resources. Chakrabarty (1994) argues that people adapted themselves to
bureaucratic classifications as they realised that the numerical strength of their
community had become an important political instrument. Ahir/Yadavs become
aware of this by the end of the nineteenth century. This is not only documented by
the content of the petitions they sent to the census officer but also by their
historiographies. Accounts written by Yadav ‘historians’ emphasised how their
ancestors and founders of the community realised the numerical strength of the
Ahirs through the early census and made them compete for what they thought to
be a ‘fair number’ of appointments in an ever-growing state bureaucracy (J.L.
Yadav 1999: 13; see also Census of India 1871-2; Census of India 1881). The
following are extracts from petitions and memorandums sent to the British
government during the colonial period.

‘...that having regard to the fact that this community which

numerically stands only second amongst the various sections of the
Hindu communities is most inadequately represented in the public
services, suitable representations be made to the authorities
concerned, to recognise its claims to have an adequate share in the
public service’ . 59
‘His Majesty’s government have recognised the principle of separate
representation as a measure of giving adequate representation to those
classes and groups that would have been otherwise unrepresented (or
under represented. The government also acknowledge the claim of the
backward areas for separate representation. But the government do
not recognise the claims of the backward classes in general for
example Ahirs, Gujars, etc., for separate representation.. .1 humbly put
before Your Excellence the example of only one Province, the United
Provinces of Agra and Oudh. In that Province the population of the
Ahirs alone is equal to the population of the Muslims, almost equal to
the population of the depressed classes. But during the last ten years

58 See NAI, Home Dept. Public, May-June, 1926, File No. 706 and Delhi State Archives,

Home Dept. May, 1933, File No. 109-b. Ahir community petition from the Yadav-Ahir
Kshatriya Sabha for adequate representation of the Ahir community in the machinery of
the reformed government.
59 NAI Home Dept. Public, May-June, 1926, File No. 706.

108
 we have not been able in sending more than one representative to the
Legislative Council’ . 6 0

This emphasis on number and on Yadavness versus ‘status’ is also evident in

colonial petitions which portray the Ahirs as ‘the backward/depressed category’
in an attempt to get benefits from the reservation provisions. It looks as if the
Yadav intelligentsia not only learnt that Yadav social and economic progress or
backwardness could be determined by measuring their share in the number of
graduates, official appointments and parliamentary seats (Chakrabarty 1994: 150),
but also that economic and social disabilities were not ‘enough’ and that ‘ritual'
disabilities had also to be proved. The following is an extract from a petition sent
in 1927, to the Simon Commission, in which a member of the Ahir community
illustrates how the community suffers from the same disabilities and
discriminations as the Chamars (an untouchable caste).

(b) It may be said that the Lower classes are made up of the middle
classes and the Lower castes. Amongst the former may be mentioned
the Ahirs, Gadariyas, Kurmi, etc. and amongst the latter the Chamars,
Sweepers, Dhobi etc. but this classification is the thing of the past and
cannot be made castewise now-a-days...The British officers in the
Civil and Military employed sweepers and Chamars as their ‘ayahs’
and thus raised the status of many of the families. 61

This petition goes on to describe how ‘Lower classes’ (Shudra and untouchables)
have certain religious and social customs such as drinking wine; re-marriage;
caste panchayats; caste gods and the non-use of Brahman priest in their religious
rituals. Mr Ram Prasad Ahir, the memorandum’s author, concludes his petition
with a rhetorical question: ‘The question that arises is why others (namely castes
like the Ahir) are regarded to be a little better than the untouchables’ (ibid. my
emphasis). In the post-colonial period, on occasion of the implementation of the

6 0 Delhi State Archives, Home Dept. May, 1933, File No. 109-b. Ahir community

petition from the Yadav-Ahir Kshatriya Sabha for adequate representation of the Ahir
community in the machinery of the reformed government.
61 Memorandum submitted by Mr. Ram Prasad Ahir, Pleader, Sultanpur. In Indian
Statutory Commission Volume XVI. Selections from memoranda & oral evidence by
non-officials (Part-1), 354-355. See also IOR, L/PJ/9/108.

109
Other Backward Classes provisions, this rhetorical query often recurred while the
Yadav ‘backward’ status was re-defined and ‘proved’.

These petition suggest that to understand Yadav colonial caste politics only
within the framework of Sanskritisation can be misleading. In fact, there is more
continuity between Yadav colonial and post-colonial caste politics than has
actually been recognised. Pinch (1996: 142) has pointed out how the call for a
Kshatriya past lost its voice with Independence and, in the last fifty years, Yadavs
and other castes like Kurmi and Kushavaha have begun to privilege a rhetoric
based on democratic and demographic realities. This is not entirely correct. First,
because during the colonial period Yadav caste associations lobbied the
government to obtain separate representation and government jobs and they did so
on the basis of their numerical strength rather than on their Kshatriya origins.
Secondly, following Independence, as the next section illustrates, Yadav caste
associations never abandoned the Kshatriya rhetoric. In fact, both during colonial
and post-Independence periods, Krishna-the-warrior-prince did not only serve as
the basis for a process of Sanskritisation but, importantly, as the basis for the
formation of a larger and larger all-India Yadav community. Demographic and
democratic realities and the rhetoric of Kshatriyahood do not therefore contradict
each other and are indeed extremely complementary.

Yadavs, the Other Backward Classes social category and the

Yadav regiment

After Independence, the Constitution gave the government of India the power to
legislate in favour of the Scheduled Castes (former untouchables), the Scheduled
Tribes (tribal groups) and the Other Backward Classes. While the question of
identifying the scheduled castes and tribes was settled before independence, the
category ‘backward classes’ was left, at least at the central level, to be defined. In
the early fifties, the Kalelkar Commission made the first attempt to characterise
‘backwardness’ and in its report made it clear that caste was an important index of
economic and social marginalisation. The central government rejected the
recommendation by pointing out how the commission failed to apply other
criteria such as income, education, and literacy in determining backwardness. On

110
the wave of the rejection, the Yadav caste associations began to lobby the
government for the adoption of the caste criterion for determining the status of the
Other Backward Classes.

The Yadavs have been playing a leading part in the general Backward
Classes’ movement. By the early 1960s, both the general secretary and the
president of the All-India Backward Classes Federation belonged to the Yadav
community and had active roles in the AIYM. At all its annual conferences the
AIYM began to pass resolutions demanding the revival of the caste criteria and
the implementation of the recommendations of the Backward Classes
Commission (Rao 1979: 157). However, in the 1970s, due to internal rivalries
within the leadership of the Mahasabha, the backward front lost its strength. At
the time there were basically two factions. On the one hand there were the
‘traditional’ Ahir elite groups from Ahirwal and western Uttar Pradesh who were
mainly interested in defending the interests of landlords and the military elite, and
on the other the landless and ‘poor’ Yadavs of eastern Uttar Pradesh and Bihar,
whose agenda was to achieve ‘social justice’ and the implementation of
reservation for the OBCs (see Jaffrelot 2000).

Hence in the Braj-Ahirwal area there were many Ahir/Yadavs who

perceived it demeaning to be considered ‘backward’. In the mid 1960s at the
AIYM conference organised in Etawah, the president, Rao Birendra Singh
(member of the Rewari royal family), said in his speech that ‘it was a weakness
on the part of the Yadavs to consider themselves a backward community’, and
that what they (Yadavs) wanted was ‘political power and not social reform’
(quoted in Dhanagare 1968: 1852; see Rao 1972). With this statement Rao
Birendra Singh pushed the issue of Sanskritisation rather than the issue of OBC
reservation. However, his opinions were not shared by many of the participants of
the convention. As a result, one of the resolutions passed in the meeting said that:

The Mahasabha condemned the Central Government for

shelving the Backward Classes Commission’s Report and
insisted that its recommendations be implemented and the caste
criterion for determining backwardness be revived (Resolutions,
Etawah 1968 (Originally in English)).

I ll
Hence, by the end of the 1960s, the policy of reservation was causing conflict
between Yadavs’ competing demands for higher ritual status on the one hand, and
economic and political power on the other.

Meanwhile, in the following years numerous state commissions were

formed to develop methods to identify what ‘backward’ meant. Finally, in 1978, a
new Backward Classes Commission, headed by B.P. Mandal (Yadav by caste),
was appointed. Its report identified 3,743 castes as ‘backward’. This list was
developed out of the last available data on caste, namely the 1931 Indian Census.
With the 1941 Census the British stopped using caste categories because it was
thought that they contributed to the politicisation of caste. By the same token, the
post-colonial government rejected caste tabulation in an attempt to deprive caste
of its legitimacy. Constitution makers believed that in a democratic state caste
demography had no place. In the absence of reliable data, predictably, the search
for ‘backward’ castes was not a straightforward process. The problems
encountered by colonial census officers in defining caste as ‘an all-over India’
classificatory tool were to be experienced again by the members of Backward
Classes Commission. As in the 1920s, when British census officers were
overwhelmed with claims from caste groups which attempted to be classified as
‘Rajput’, ‘Kshatriya’ or with other higher status caste/vama titles, the Mandal
commission was engulfed by petitions from communities which claimed to be
‘backward’ (Pinch 1996: 145). The Yadav caste associations successfully pursued
such a path (see K.C. Yadav 1994).

In the 1980s (1980-1983), and then again during the 1990s, the AIYM’s
pro-reservation front strengthened its power. However, this did not mean that the
anti-reservation front, supported by many Ahir/Y adavs in the Ahirwal area,
remained without a voice. Haryana was one of the last states in northern India to
include Yadavs in the OBC list. This was due to a lack of consensus within the
community. The local Yadavs were split into two fronts. One front felt it
demeaning to be included in the OBCs, and the other front felt that the economic
benefits offered by the OBC policy outweighed the issues concerning ritual status.
In the end, the latter front won thanks to the efforts of local caste associations
affiliated to the AIYM. Throughout the 1980s the implementation of the Mandal
recommendations became one of the major focuses of the All-India Yadav

112
Mahasabha. 6 2 The AIYM lobbied for the implementation of the recommendations
‘in the name of Krishna’. The following are extracts from publications and
speeches published and held in this period.

‘Lord Krishna, holding the Goverdhan Giri took the stand of this
people against injustice and proposed himself. In the Mahabharata,
favouring justice, he rooted out the injustice done to the respectful
people of this race. For the progress of the poor people of India below
the poverty line, especially for the Backward, Scheduled Castes and
Scheduled Tribes, show the way today! ,6 3

Krishna is represented as a social-democratic hero who combats injustice and

social inequalities. The Yadav leaders, in the name of Krishna, ‘the prophet of
social justice’, represent the Yadavs as the natural leaders of the OBCs. Krishna
was the leader in Dwapara Yuga, and the Yadavs, as his descendants, were
supposed to lead the society in the Kali Yuga and fight the injustice and the
exploitation of the Backward Classes by the Forward Classes (cf. Rao 1979). This
rhetoric, which would be further developed in the 1990s by Yadav politicians (see
Chapter 5), was accompanied by an emphasis on the power of the Yadavs’
numerical strength and on the promotion of an all-India process of Yadavisation.
The following are extracts from the meeting held in 1983 in Madras, Tamil Nadu.

‘All are our habitations. All are our relatives’ is the ancient saying.
Lord Krishna led us towards such a goal. This is because of various
divisions that crept among us in the course of time. The dawn of the
need for unity marked the dawn of our Mahasabha’...‘at one time
Yadav population was 56 crore. Now it is supposed to be 10 or 12
crore. As a result of subcaste subdivisions, it is not easy to determine
the exact number of Yadavas. We should all unite and write Yadav

62 In 1979, the Mahasabha was highly involved in the organisation of the National
Seminar on Backward Classes. The following are extracts from a meeting held in 1979:
2. It is a matter of great regret that the Kaka Kalelkar’s report remained shelved for over
25 years. 3...As such the participants in the Meeting strongly demand that pending the
submission of the Mandal Commission’s report the Govt, should at least reserve with
immediate effect certain percent of positions in all India services and in technical and
medical institutions as envisaged in the Kaka Kalelkar’s report and as promised by the
Janata Party’s manifesto’. Extracts from Minutes of the National Seminar on Backward
Classes, 19-20 May 1979, Delhi, reported in Yadav Sansar, June 1979.
63Jagadami Prasad Yadav, Member of Parliament, Letter published in the AIYM, 49th
Session Madras’s Souvenir, 1983 (Originally in English).

113
 after our names that will reduce the ambiguity which arises as a result
of use of subcaste names’ . 64

In 1990, the Janata Prime minister V.P. Singh implemented the reservations for
the OBCs. This provoked disapproval from all over the country. Young students
belonging to high castes immolated themselves in a sign of protest. By the same
token, Yadav leaders were jubilant. The Yadav caste publications of the period
are full of articles which portray Yadav leaders as the saviours of the Backward
Classes and B.P. Mandal (Yadav) as their messiah. The latter has become one of
the legendary personalities of the Yadav community and he is glorified in the
Yadav caste literature. The following is an example of such ‘devotion’:

‘B.P. Mandal was a man with great foresight. He worked for the
upliftment of the poor and oppressed. He was a great advocate of
social justice. His greatest contribution to the cause of social justice is
the Mandal commission report. He is rightly called the Messiah of
Backwards’ . 65

In 1999, the AIYM resolved that the portrait of B.P. Mandal, the Messiah of the
Backward Classes, should be placed ‘in the Central Hall of the Parliament without
any further delay* . 6 6 In the 1990s, the Mahasabha’s OBC front led by socialist
leaders such as Harmohan Singh Yadav regained power. Harmohan Singh Yadav
is described in the words of a caste publication as ‘a devoted social activist, a
humanist with immeasurable warmth for the poor, the downtrodden and the
oppressed. A firm believer in secularism, social justice and democratic values’.
At present, he is member of the Rajya Sabha and an active member of the
Samaj wadi Party. In the 1980s and 1990s under his leadership the Mahasabha
revived its local branches and began to focus more on issues of political
representation and participation. This massive reorganisation and revival is
historically parallel to the implementation of the policy of reservation for the
OBCs. The meetings of the AIYM began to be held regularly and their venue

64 Flag-hoisting speech by Harmohan Singh, AIYM Convention, Madras 1983

(Originally in English).
65 AIYM Platinum Jubilee Year, Souvenir, 1924-1999 (1999).
66Resolutions voted at the AIYM’s Platinum Jubilee Session, Vaishali-New Delhi, 25
and 26 December 1999.
67 AIYM Platinum Jubilee Year, Souvenir, 1924-1999 (1999).

114
shifted outside the Hindi-belt to Thiruvananthapuram in Kerala (1993),
Secunderabad in Andhra Pradesh (1994), Surat in Gujarat (1995), Guwahati in
Assam (1996) and Bangalore in Karnataka (1999). The Mahasabha then
reinforced its strength in the South, especially in Tamil Nadu.

Today, the organisational ability of the AIYM lies in its effective national
federative structure. At present the Mahasabha has working units in the following
states: Assam, Andhra Pradesh, Bihar, Karnataka, Orissa, Pondicherry, Rajasthan,
Tamil Nadu, Delhi, Gujarat, Haryana, Kerala, Maharashtra, Tripura, Uttar
Pradesh, West Bengal, Madhya Pradesh and Jharkhand. To my knowledge, there
are no comparable examples of caste associations in India that extend across state
boundaries and include members of different cultural and linguistic backgrounds
to the extent of the AIYM. In 1999, this decennial groundwork led to the election
of D. Nagendhiran from Tamil Nadu as president of the Mahasabha.

In recent years, the Mahasabha began to use the media in an instrumental

and systematic way. Its voice began to be recorded by local and national
newspapers. New ‘historical’ and ‘ethnographical’ texts which discussed the
Yadav ‘past’ and ‘culture’ were published and old ones were reviewed (K.C.
Yadav 1966; R. Pandey 1968; J.N.S. Yadav 1992; S. Yogi Yadav 1997). These
publications do not present substantial differences in terms of the structure and
tone of their narrative if compared with the colonial ones described above. The
main innovation is the introduction of sections about successful Yadav politicians
such as Mulayam Singh Yadav and Laloo Prasad Yadav and the inclusion of
recent sociological material on the Yadav Backward Class movement. M.S.A.
Rao’s work on the Yadava movement (1979) is highly quoted (or better,
plagiarised). So today, a large part of souvenirs or pamphlets which illustrate the
Yadav community’s historical construction refer to the Yadavs as ‘an ethnic
group’, and the AIYM as the promoter of Yadav ethnic identity, borrowing the
social category ‘ethnic’ from Rao’s work. 6 8 A number of Yadav web sites have
also been set up (e.g. www.yadav.com) to mobilise the Yadav global community
(see Plate 6 and Plate 7). Even in these sites large sections are dedicated to the
‘history’ of the Yadavas and to their political success.

68 AIYM Platinum Jubilee Year, Souvenir 1924-1999 (1999: Preface).

115
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Plate 6: Yadav Global Forum web-page (www.yadav.com)

116
 Yadav Journals

Plate 7: Yadav Journals (AIYM Jubilee Souvenir 1924-1999, 1999)

117
Yadav politicians portray themselves as the protectors of the oppressed and the
defenders of injustice. Mulayam Singh Yadav and Laloo Prasad Yadav are often
described by their caste supporters as avatars (incarnations) of Krishna sent to
earth to protect ‘the oppressed’ (see Chapter 5). It is the natural duty of the
Yadavs as descendents of Krishna and Kshatriyas to protect the weaker sections
of society. The following is an extract from speeches delivered at national and
regional Yadav meetings.

‘Lord Krishna in the name of the struggle, was a person who was
determined to fight injustice. Lord Krishna fought for the cause of the
Backward Classes, the farmers, the cowherders and the economically
weaker sections of the society. He fought against powers based on
injustice and malign intentions. The question at the time was to find
warriors with the courage to fight injustice. He gathered the children
of the milkmen along with Yadavs and cowherders to create an army
to fight against all social evils. Lord Krishna was the person who was
bom in jail and who fought against social odds’ (Laloo Prasad Yadav,
AIYM Convention, Vaishali-New Delhi 26 December 1999).

When they deliver speeches Yadav politicians generally wear the Rajput turban as
a symbol of Kshatriyahood. Moreover, they also participate in the meetings of the
Kshatriya Mahasabha, and Rajput leaders participate in Yadav meetings (see
Chapter 1). Yadavs’ social democratic politics remain, therefore, solidly ingrained
in their traditional Rajput-like culture.

The AIYM acts as a pressure group to gain government positions for its
members in the Indian state apparatus on the basis of their ‘backwardness’ and at
the same time asks for the creation of the Ahir/Y adav Regiment, on the basis of
their Kshatriya military culture. The following resolutions approved at the last
general meetings of the Mahasabha are indicative of this double political
engagement. On 25 October 1998, in Gurgaon (Haryana) on the occasion of the
inauguration of the Haryana State Yadav Sabha, fourteen resolutions were
approved by the Executive Committee of the AIYM. Amongst these, five were
directly related to issues of political representation and reservation and two to the
Yadav regiment:

(ii) It was resolved to request all the political parties to allot at least
15% of seats to Yadav candidates in the ensuing Assembly elections
in Delhi, Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh in view of the preponderous
Yadavs in these states.

118
 (iii) It was resolved that the Hon’able Prime Minister, Sh, Atal Vajpay
be requested to nominate at his earliest convenience, at least, two
Yadavs in his Council of Ministers as Cabinet Minister. It was further
resolved to impress upon the Hon’ able Prime Minister that there was
no Yadav Minister of Cabinet Rank. Therefore, Yadavs may be
adequately represented in his Cabinet, as the Yadav are the single
largest community in the country numbering 15 crores.
(v) Resolved to request the President of India to appoint Yadavs as
Governors.
(vi) Resolved to request the Government of India to undo the grave
injustice to the community by not appointing any Yadav as member
of the Union Public Service commission, or Judges in the high Court
and Supreme Court.
(vii) It is resolved to request Government of India to provide
reservation of 27% for the OBC women in the proposed 33%
reservation for women.
(viii) Resolve that the provision of “Creamy Layer” which goes
against the letter and spirit of the Constitution of India providing
reservation for ‘Educationally and Socially Backward Classes” be
scrapped off forthwith.
(xiv) Resolved that keeping in view of the supreme sacrifices made to
the Nation by our people in India, we be given a regiment forthwith.
Resolved further that an Ahirwal regiment be also made at once as is
being done for other regions these days. Further resolved that the
quota of the Yadavas be increased in the Indian army in view of their
strength- i.e. over 12% of the national population (Originally in
English).

At the Platinum Jubilee Session of the AIYM at Vaishali-New Delhi on 25 and 26

December 1999, four resolutions identified under the subtitle ‘political’, and four
under the agenda Yadav Regiment were approved, as well:

(ii) Resolved that the vested interest which has been denying the 16-
crore strong Yadav community its rightful space in national polity be
shown its place once for all. The political parties, no matter whether
left winged, right oriented, pro-social justice or any other hue, be
opposed tooth and nail if they work against the interests of the Yadav
community.
(iii) Resolved that the discrimination that the Yadavs are being
subjected to in the matter of appointments as governor, ambassadors
and heads of statutory bodies including the UPSC, and state public
services commissions, and other national outfits must stop forthwith.
They must get their due share in these appointments.
(iv) That the provision of ‘creamy layer’ in the OBC reservations
which goes against the letter and spirit of the constitution of India
providing reservation for the socially and educationally backward
classes be done away forthwith.
(v) Resolved to appeal to the Yadav community to exercise utmost
care in the use of its vote. In no circumstance should one be voted

119
 who does not serve the interests of our community in particular and
the weaker section of the society in general.
(vi) Resolved that keeping in view the supreme sacrifice of the
Yadavs in defending the nation’s borders, honour and integrity, we
would be given a Yadav Regiment forthwith as was done for Jats,
Rajputs, Dogras etc in the past and for the Nagas in the present.
(vii) Resolved that an Ahirwal Regiment be also established as had
been done for other regions.
(viii) Resolved that Yadavs being over 15 crore, their quota in the
armed forces be raised on the strength of their numbers (Originally in
English).

The focus on the implementation of the OBC provisions and on the formation of
the Yadav regiment mirrors the ‘socialist-Kshatriya’ language of the Mahasabha
and Yadav political leaders. In the next section I explore how this language is
played out in the local political arena of Mathura town.

Manipulating ‘status9 in Mathura

Most of the AIYM resolutions reported above are related to the reservation
policy. At the time of my fieldwork as expressed in resolution numbers (viii) and
(iv) respectively, the issue of the ‘creamy layer’ was already topical. According to
the Supreme Court judgement and the Mandal Commission Act, it is mandatory
that from sometime in 2 0 0 2 state governments shall begin to identify
communities in the reservation list that are no longer backward and accordingly
remove them from the OBC list. By 1998, the AIYM began to campaign against
the creamy layer provision. The general argument against it is based on the fact
that the economic criterion is not contemplated by the Constitution and therefore
is unconstitutional.

Actually, there are no real criteria to determine what constitutes backward.

As has been acknowledged by academic debates on reservation policy and the
effects of the Mandal commission (Beteille 1992), the ‘backward’ concept as well
as the criteria used to choose ‘who to include and who to exclude’ are vaguely
specified. The constitution says that reservations are provided to the socially and
educationally backward classes. If on the one hand educational backwardness can

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be quantified ‘by counting the number of graduates or matriculates from a caste,
the number of children in school, how many dropouts’, etc., social backwardness
is, on the other hand, very difficult to quantify or assess. The Mandal Commission
provides some guides by listing certain social behaviours (namely the practice of
child marriage or widow marriage) as characteristics of socially backward castes.
However, overall, the understanding has been that people who have been
discriminated against because of their low ritual status, and which in turn has led
to their deprivation in society in terms of access to education and other
opportunities, deserve special help and action through policy.

In line with such understanding, Yadav informants in Mathura

conceptualise the category ‘Backward Classes/Castes’ as synonymous with
Shudra, with non-twice-bom castes (avama), i.e. untouchables or very low castes.
Administrative classifications such as ‘Backward Classes’ and ‘Scheduled Castes’
have been assimilated in everyday conversations in the neighbourhood and
replaced terms such as Shudra and untouchables. During fieldwork informants
seldom mentioned the word Shudra, but they often used the term Backward
Classes/Castes or Scheduled Castes when they referred to low castes like the local
Dhobis and Jatav/Chamars. In Mathura, differences of rank based purely on a
purity and pollution hierarchy are almost non-existent amongst the so-called bare
jati category. This category of continuous hierarchies includes Brahmans, Banias,
Rajputs, Jats, Yadavs, Malis and all the other ‘clean’ castes. Yadavs are not
concerned how they might be ranked in relation to the other bare jati. However,
they are very strict about the pollution barrier. The pollution barrier between these
clean caste communities and the former untouchables (generally called ‘backward
castes’ or ‘scheduled castes’) is still a lively social reality (cf. Osella and Osella
2000a: 240-241). Mathura’s ethnography is consistent with Susan Bayly’s
observations: ‘the paramount manifestation of caste in Indian life today is not so
much of the phenomenon of “substantialisation” as it was reported in the 1970s,
but the distinctions between those who can proclaim clean-caste origin and those
whom higher-caste people can stigmatise as avarna, i.e. innately unclean and
polluted’ (1999: 340).

However, in order to prove their ‘social backwardness’ to the government

authorities Yadav social leaders and politicians depict the Yadavs as Shudra and

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as a low, almost ‘untouchable’ caste. In doing this, they draw upon ethnographic
details which portrayed them as Shudra and low. The Questionnaire for
Consideration o f Requests for Inclusion in the Central list o f the OBCs (1994)
asks explicitly for caste details about the social disabilities of the caste. The
following passage is an extract from the ‘Memorandum for inclusion o f
Ahir/Yadav in the OBCs ’ in the state of Haryana. The document was written by a
Yadav social leader and active member of the AIYM and submitted to the
National Commission for Backward Classes in 1995. The ‘social backwardness’
of the Ahir/Y adavs, was described as follows:

‘The Ahirs, for reasons which fall beyond the scope of this
memorandum stand to a very low social position in the society by the
Brahmanical order during the ancient and medieval periods. The
Ramayana calls them fierce looking wild race called dasyu (= they
were untouchables (Valmiki, XXII, 30-36). The Mahabharata records
them as Vrisaalas (akin to Shudras) (Ashvamedhka parva, XXIX,
830-320). They are found to be occupying the same position in the
medieval age. They were not included in the Vamashramadharma’.
Kashka, a medieval commentator of Mahabhashya goes even further
and describes them as Mahasudras (Kashika Vivaranapanjika 1913,
Vol. I, p.809). The position has improved a little in the modem times.
But still they occupy a low social status... The Ahirs, who were
ranked as Shudras during the ancient and medieval time were not
‘allowed’ to go for education.. .The position has improved a little in
the modem times. But still they occupy a low social status. A socio-
educational-economic survey conducted by me recently has
substantiated this position quite figuratively. In reply to the following
three questions based to ‘high castes’ and the Ahirs throughout the
Ahirwal, the reply was in negative:
Do Brahmans and other high caste share food with Ahirs?
Do they smoke hooka with Ahirs?
Do they accept Ahirs as of equal social standing?
The social injustice of thousands of years has made the caste
backward by robbing its members of self-confidence, and positive
will to upward social-economic-cultural mobility’ . 6 9

The descriptions of the Ahir/Yadavs in these extracts emphasise Ahir low and
‘unclean’ status within a Brahmanical model of hierarchy. As described in the
previous sections Braj-Ahirwal Yadavs belong to the Yaduvanshi category and
are mainly landlords or employed in the army. During an interview with the

69 Memorandum for inclusion of Ahirs in the OBCs, Copy address to the Director,

Welfare of Scheduled Castes and Backward Classes, Haryana (1994).

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author of the memorandum, in which I questioned him on the plausibility of his
claims, he read to me passages extracted from colonial ethnographies which
described ‘the Ahirs’ as Shudras and as low caste people whose main occupation
was milk-selling. Soon after, he proudly showed me a file which contained all the
memorandums sent to the different ministers of Defence, demanding the creation
of a Yadav regiment. 7 0 Extracts from A.H. Bingley’s recruitment Handbook were
quoted to prove Yadav fighting abilities and their being Kshatriya and martial.
Moreover, the royal status of Ahirwal clans was emphasised. The different use of
ethnographic details in the memorandum addressed to the Backward Classes
commission and those sent to the Ministers of Defence are a further example of
how the ambiguous status of the Yadav is manipulated in the contemporary
political process.

During conversations with local political leaders about the principle of the
creamy layer, details from colonial ethnographies, and in particular extracts from
a Mathura Gazetteer, were shown to me to prove ‘the low status’ of the Yadavs.
Often I have been told that the Ahirs in eastern U.P. and Bihar are looked down
upon, so much so that they have been included in the category of Shudra and are
thus oppressed by the higher castes. Mathura Yadavs use the allegedly low status
of their caste mates in other parts of the state to legitimise their inclusion in the
OBC categories. The reality is that many Yadavs in Mathura benefit from the
reservation even if they are on the whole all well-off, politically powerful and
locally recognised as a bare jati. Accordingly, local Yadavs think of themselves
as Kshatriya and/or as ‘Kshatriya who behave like Vaishya’ (see Chapter 4).
Almost without exception Mathura Yadav informants say that they are by no
means a ‘backward caste’. Whenever I pointed out that as members of the OBCs
they benefit from the government reservation they usually dismissed my
argument by saying that ‘those are Delhi classifications’ which they are happy to
use for economic reasons, but this use does not mean that they are in fact a
‘backward caste’.

70AIYM’s memorandums submitted to the minister of Defence: November 1968; August

1982, March 1984; July 1996.

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 Academics have emphasised the ‘dilemma’ of the OBCs. They have
described how individuals are caught between the claim of ‘backwardness’ in order
to benefit from special allocations, and the quest for upward social mobility which
would improve social status yet compromise eligibility for preferential treatment
(Beteille 1969). The issue is whether to cling to a ‘backward’ identity in order to
gain access to compensatory privileges from the state, or to pursue social mobility
through the ‘traditional’ mechanism of Sanskritisation, which means denying one’s
low origins and hence repudiating these privileges. This dilemma is certainly more
prominent amongst former untouchable castes, as the caste studies of the Koli (Parry
1970) and of the Kori (Molund 1988) illustrate. However, the case of the
Ahir/Yadavs shows that ‘backward castes’ also face similar dilemmas.

Today, Yadavs of Mathura generally do not find it demeaning to be

members of the OBCs, and seem to have resolved the conflict between claims for
status and power. They are not concerned with the fact that the denomination
‘backward’ is locally understood as synonymous with low status and Shudra. I
suggest that the way contemporary Mathura Yadavs relate to the category of OBC
should also be understood by taking into account the emphasis they generally
place on the ‘quality’ and ‘distinctiveness’ of their blood, rather than on matters
of ritual purity. It follows that the powerful ethnic discourse developed and
diffused by Yadav intellectuals, politicians and social reform leaders allows local
Yadavs to think of themselves as ‘Kshatriyas who behave like Vaishyas’ and to
think about the Shudra label as another state resource to be exploited.

Conclusion

This chapter has unravelled a number of aspects of Ahir/Yadav history in relation

to the use of bureaucratic social classifications and ethnographic knowledge. In
particular I have illustrated the socio-cultural relations that constitute the
understanding and the reinterpretation of particular texts, categories and
government policies. I began the chapter by investigating the factors that
facilitated the successful formation of the Yadav community in the Braj-Ahirwal
area and Mathura town. In doing so I departed from the situation I recorded in the

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late 1990s and asked ‘the Yadav archive’ to shed light on my ethnographic data.
In particular, I analysed how a caste is able to represent itself as possessing a high
status in the caste hierarchy, and at the same time claim a low status in order to
gain access to state benefits without seeing any contradiction. The exploration of
Ahir/Yadav history and its relations with different types of social categories and
ethnographic portrayals teases out this apparent contradiction. I suggest that
central to this is the Ahir/Yadavs’ view of caste centred on religious descent and
its effective manipulation by Yadav historians and socio-political reformers.

Contemporary Mathura Yadavs have a primordial view of their

community. They place emphasis on ‘the community’ aspect of their caste rather
than on the ideology of purity and pollution. This emphasis should not be
interpreted as a ‘modem’ change. In the pre-colonial period, processes of
aggregation (today called processes of ethnicisation) were phenomena solidly
ingrained within the Ahirwal-Braj area. Such processes were legitimised by the
assumption that, despite their subdivision and rank, all Ahirs had the same
origins: the ancestor Krishna and his place of birth, the town of Mathura.

Particular characteristics of the community, such as loose endogamous

mles and strong exogamy, facilitate processes of inclusion and aggregation. In
addition, religious reforms such as Vaishnava bhakti movements, the Arya Samaj,
and Sanskritic Hinduism, have contributed to the transformation of Ahirs into
‘pure’ Yadavs, and linked their descent structure to a sacred kinship via the god-
ancestor-Krishna.

I suggest that the AIYM interpreted and manipulated colonial

classifications through the lens of historically familiar folk theories and practices
of caste. The emphasis on primordialism and blood by colonial caste forms of
classification seem to have had an elective affinity with the Ahir/Y adavs’ own
understandings of their caste/community. Hence, Ahir/Y adavs did not only find
themselves in particular historical circumstances which ‘invited’ them to
gradually homogenise their community, but they also had specific kinship and
religious structures which contributed to facilitating their gradual process of
ethnicisation. In particular, the ‘unconventional’ character of the Ahir caste, i.e.
its internal economic and social heterogeneity and its imprecise ritual status
helped the Yadav intelligentsia to ‘define’ and ‘re-define’ themselves according

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to their political agenda. Ahir/Yadav historians and ethnographers have on the
one hand transformed a diversified ethnographic knowledge into an essentialised
tale, and used it to promote a unified and numerically strong Yadav community.
On the other hand, they still manipulate, at their convenience, the various
‘essentialised’ essences (‘Kshatriya’, ‘martial’ and ‘Shudra’) offered by the
colonial portrayals and by the multivocality of the symbol of Krishna. This
complex process of identity renegotiation has been present throughout the
colonial and the post-colonial periods.

Thus, the formation of the Yadav community should not be studied as a

mere orientalist fabrication, or as just the product of post-colonial government
classifications. I should emphasise that it is not the interest of this work to
challenge arguments which view contemporary caste ethnicisation processes as
responses to colonial and post-colonial constructions of caste. In contrast, what
this chapter has shown is why some Indians find these models so attractive and
why some castes find them more attractive than others. This chapter has shown
that Ahir/Yadavs had, and have, a specific way of reinterpreting social
classifications and texts (cf. Sundar 1999: 105). This understanding, linked to
their descent-centered conception of caste, together with the availability of
significant economic and political resources, facilitated Ahir/Yadavs’ successful
manipulation of social classifications and texts.

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 Chapter 3
The internal structure of the Yadav
caste/community and processes of fusion

Introduction

This chapter provides an empirical description of the contemporary system of

Yadav subdivision and of the importance of the ideology of descent in the
construction of a ‘horizontal’ and ‘ethnicised’ Yadav community. It documents
how an increasing number of Yadavs in Mathura town view themselves as
members of a large descent group - the Krishnavanshi - which recognises
common descent from the god Krishna. Further it shows that the expansion of
local Yadav endogamous units is both linked to ‘traditional’ hypergamous
marriage patterns and to ideas propagated by the caste associations. Finally it
shows how the Yadavs’ newly acquired political power has influenced the status
of a few Ahir/Yadav subdivisions and hence marriage patterns.

The chapter is divided into two parts. The first part deals with the internal
structure of the Ahir/Yadav community. It examines the peculiarities of its
segmentary system and the changes and continuities it has experienced in the past
fifty years. Following on from the discussion begun in the previous chapter
concerning the passage from Ghosi, Kamaria and Nandavanshi-Ahir to
Yaduvanshi and Krishnavanshi-Yadav, I explore how the boundaries between
different subdivisions are locally defined by locality/territory, ideologies of blood,
concepts of purity and pollution, wealth and power and historical contingencies.
The second part of the chapter is about ideologies of marriage and processes of
fusion amongst the Yadav community. In the concluding section I examine the
kinship structure of the Ahir/Yadav caste/community in terms of the academic
debate about the modem transformations of the morphological aspects of caste
and its conversion into ‘horizontal’ and ‘separated’ quasi-ethnic groups.

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The Ahir/Yadavs’ horizontal organisation and lineage
view of caste

The historiography of the Ahir/Yadavs highlights a number of important socio-

structural features present in the organisation of this large and heterogeneous
community. First, it shows that the Ahir kinship system was traditionally
informed by openness which meant that Ahirs constituted a ‘loosely structured’
caste (Orenstein 1963). Although rules of endogamy were present at some levels,
the community was mainly united by ‘fictitious kinship’, i.e. local alliances and
affinities that bound groups of Ahirs internally and established links with other
subcastes and castes (cf. Rao 1977,1979).

Within the Ahir/Yadav ‘caste-cluster’, alliances between different

segments, or sections of segments, amongst which no specific real genealogical
relationship or connection existed, were common. Accordingly, the endogamous
units within the community were never rigidly bounded and ranked; nor were they
ordered following a sharp purity-pollution hierarchy. Rather, subdivisions within the
caste were maintained by claiming different patterns of descent and different habits
71
and customs related to territory and political power. In addition, each subdivision
was internally characterised by differentiation of status, power and wealth. Such
features contributed to the absence of a clear-cut ranking based on the ideology of
purity-pollution and, importantly, to the attachment of status not only to
endogamous groups but also to exogamous groups and cluster of lineages. Thus,
different segments of the Ahir/Yadavs were not of the same order. This social
system led to preferential hypergamous marriage patterns and to the breaching of the
ideals of endogamy at the lower and higher levels of the caste/community
hierarchy. 7 2

71 See Gupta’s treatment of castes as ‘discrete’ groups (2000: 54-85).

72 Chowdhry’s (1997) work on inter and intra-caste marriages illustrates how in marriage

members of the Jat caste historically accepted women of lower castes. A local belief says
that ‘the Jat is like an ocean and whichever river falls into this ocean loses its identity and
becomes the ocean itself (1997: 1023). Men ‘engulfed all and determined the status of a
woman’ (ibid.: 1025). Accounts of Ahirs marrying low caste women are also available in
folktales found in Haryana and U.P.

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 This structure is not dissimilar to the one I recorded in Mathura in the late
1990s. Bhagvand Das is 35 years old. He is a Nandavanshi-Yadav of the Phatak
clan and lives in Ahir Para. He is a moneylender and wrestler. When asked to
describe how the patrilineal system of his caste community works he summarises
it by saying:

We (Yadavs) are Chandravanshi, we descend from the Lunar dynasty.

The Chandravanshi are divided into different smaller vanshs (lines of
descent). The Yadavs are divided into three main vanshs: the
Yaduvanshi, the Nandavanshi and the Goallavanshi. Each vansh is
formed by different gots (clans). You can marry with the people of
your vansh and out of your got. Nowadays, people belonging to
different vanshs can intermarry. We (Yadavs) are all Krishnavanshi
and we belong to the sameparivar (lineage).. .Yadavs are not a caste
they are a race (English word).

Local Yadavs stress the ‘uniqueness’ of their caste structure by saying that
Yadavs are not a jati but a vansh. When they use English they translate the word
vansh as ‘race’. Informants claim common stock with the Jats, Gujars, Marathas
and Rajputs. 7 3 The members of these allied castes are considered ‘brothers’
because they also descend from the Yadava dynasty, and because they share many
customs and practices.

Hence, despite the fact that Yadavs view their world as segmentary, the
boundaries that mark divisions within their caste/community and allied castes are
not considered as having the same nature as those that mark divisions between
their vansh (understood as a social category which includes Rajputs, Gujars, Jats
and Marathas) and other castes. Accordingly, local Yadavs apply different terms
(and understandings) to different units of the caste system. The same word, for
example jati, is not used to describe groups at all the levels of segmentation;
rather it is used to describe other castes and communities: ‘the Brahman jati*; ‘the
chote jatis’ as opposed to the ‘Yadav vansh*.

By describing their community as a vansh!race, informants stress the

horizontal ‘caste-cluster’ character of their caste, thereby stressing the idiom of
kinship and descent rather than the idiom of religious hierarchy. Beteille (1969:
45) has shown convincingly how the ideas of descent and race (understood in

73 For contemporary ethnographic data on the Gujar community see Raheja (1988).

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sociological rather than biological terms) are inseparably combined in the concept
of jati', and in the light of available ethnographic data, I suggest that amongst
Rajput-like ‘caste-cluster’ communities such a link is stronger than in other
castes. 7 4 Fox (1971) and more recently Unnithan-Kumar (1997: 3) have shown
how castes related to a Rajput-like culture ‘ . share a centrality of territorially
defined lineal kinship in their lives which leads them to experience caste in ways
both similar and, at the same time different from caste as we know it generally,
i.e., as a set of agnatic and affinal groups dispersed over a wide territory’
(Unnithan-Kumar 1997: 3). Similarly, the subdivisions of Rajput-like castes are
of a different order than other caste communities. They generally have few
‘endogamous’ subdivisions (Mayer 1960; Blunt 1931) and, conversely, are
divided into numerous Tines’, ‘branches’ and ‘clans’ which have an exogamous
character. In such a system status is ascribed not only to endogamous groups but
also to exogamous groups (Dumont 1970: 123). Paramount to this structure is a
preferential hypergamous marriage system which operates at regional level.

Despite class differences amongst Rajputs and fringe-Rajput communities,

their members maintain that they are all related to one another however distantly,
either by descent or marriage (see Harlan 1992). Similarly, Ahir Para Yadavs
speak about the members of their community in terms of two interrelated social
institutions primarily defined by descent. They draw attention to their
relationships with their own patrilineage (their line of descent {vansh), their clan
{got) and their lineage {parivar)), and their relationships with other patrilineages
(other vanshs, gots andparivars). ‘Descent’ and ‘marriage’ are therefore the
central organisational institutions in the Yadavs’ everyday life. 7 5 The largest
segment of Yadav organisational structure is the vansh of the Moon (the
Chandravanshi). Encompassed by the Chandravanshi category are various
smaller vanshs. I have identified three main vanshs among Mathura Yadavs: the
Yaduvanshi, the Nandavanshi and the Goallavanshi. Each vansh traces its origin

7 4 For comparative ethnographic data on Rajputs see Fox (1971); on the Girasias (a

Rajput-like tribe) see Unnithan-Kumar (1997); on Marathas see Orenstein (1963);

Lomova-Oppokova (1999); Jaffrelot (2000); Hansen (2001); and on Patidars see Pocock,
(1972,1973).
7 5 For a comparative ethnographic example see the case of the Girasias explored by

Unnithan-Kumar (1997).

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to a heroic ancestor related to the mythology of Krishna. Progressing down
towards smaller kinship units, the next unit after the vansh is the got (clan). After
the got comes parivar (lineage and sub-lineage).

The exploration of Rajput-like horizontal cluster organisations leads me to

suggest that to understand caste as a perfect segmentary system is an
oversimplification which obscures the complexity presented by many
caste/communities where a less clear-cut internal hierarchical and vertical social
organisation is evident. Furthermore, such a perspective conceals how processes
of fusion are facilitated within caste/communities which traditionally were
informed by horizontal alliances rather than by vertical ones. It is perhaps not a
coincidence that the most visible ‘substantiated’ and politically powerful Indian
caste/ communities: the Marathas in Maharashtra, the Patidars in Gujarat, the
Yadavs in northern India, have a strikingly similar social organisation and
regional character. Thus I suggest that their horizontal cluster type organisation
has found a new vitality in a ‘modem’ caste society that recognises difference and
equality rather than a language of ritual hierarchy as an acceptable manifestation
of caste. I shall return to this point in the concluding part of the chapter after
having explored how a particular segmentary system is helping to merge different
Ahir/Yadav subdivisions and to extend local endogamous boundaries.

The vansh (line of descent): the Yaduvanshi, the Nandavanshi, the

Goallavanshi and the Krishnavanshi-Yadavs

Informants translate the term vansh with the words: ‘dynasty’, ‘lineage’ or ‘race’.
Mathura Yadavs trace their origins to the vansh of the Moon: the Chandravanshi.
The Chandravanshi together with the Suriavanshi (the line of the Sun) and the
Agnivanshi (the line of Fire) represent the typical three-tier structure of the Rajput
castes. By saying that they descend from the line of the Moon, informants
simultaneously make multiple claims of ancestry. They claim to belong to the
Kshatriya varna, to descend from Krishna and to share common descent with
Rajputs, Jats and Gujars. More specifically, at the local level they relate their
ancestral origins to regional Rajas such as the Raja of Hathras, the Raja of Karouli

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and the Raja of Mahaban, and to regional pastoral hero-gods (see Chapters 1 and
4).

The Chandravanshi line of descent is subdivided into different patricians.

These have been described with different terms such as ‘races’ (cf. Tod 1873) and
‘clans’. In the literature about the Ahir caste so far examined these subdivisions
have been described as ‘sub-castes’ (cf. Rao 1979) or as ‘tribes’(cf. Elliot 1869).
Fox has correctly pointed out that ‘... strangely, in all the varied literature on the
history, martial traditions, distribution and customs of several Jat, Rajput,
Bhuinhar and Ahir “clans” spread throughout Punjab, Uttar Pradesh, and Bihar,
no clear definition of “clan” appears, either in native Indian terms or in
anthropological terminology’ (Fox 1971: 19). Even the ‘Yadav amateur
ethnographers’ do not escape from this confusion. In the ethnography of their own
community they use the English word ‘subcaste’ or the Hindi words vansh and
got (clan) to define both endogamous and exogamous subdivisions: ‘now almost
all vanshs (gots) call themselves Yadavs’ and ‘now members of different vansh
inter-marry’ (J.N.S. Yadav 1992: 179). Thus, although the word vansh is
generally used to describe quasi-endogamous units, at times it also refers to
exogamous social categories. A number of Yadav informants in Mathura said that
their vanshs were in the past exogamous units, and originally had the same
functions which the exogamous gots have at present. Accordingly, many use the
word vansh to indicate their caste endogamous units. However, when the concept
of vansh is locally used to express rules of endogamy it is usually understood as
the concept of ‘kindred of recognition’ illustrated by Mayer (1960: 161).
Accordingly, the boundaries of the vansh are subjectively perceived, and it is
within its boundaries that marriage takes place. However, how fixed these
boundaries are is very subjective and, as the discussion in the previous chapter
showed, historically constructed. In Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar within a sample of 6 8
Yadav families, which according to caste colonial classification and
contemporary informants historically belonged to the Nandavanshi subdivision
(with the exception of one Goallavanshi family), when asked to which vansh their

132
members belong 21 per cent said Yaduvanshi, 23 per cent, Nandavanshi, 18 per
cent Krishnavanshi and 21 per cent other (see Figure l).76

Figure 3: Vansh distribution among Yadavs of Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar

H Yaduvanshi
□ Krishnavanshi
■ Goallavanshi
□ Nandavanshi
□ Other
HDK

Source: Mathura survey

The social category o f the vansh is evidently ill defined and in the light o f these
data a question should be posed: is it really relevant to which vansh you belong?
And what kind of status, if any, is attached to this social category? I attempt to
answer these questions by exploring how the boundaries o f the vansh are locally
defined by notions o f locality/territory, ideologies of blood, concepts of purity and
pollution, wealth and power and historical contingencies. In so doing, I aim to
illustrate how ‘individuals and groups construct boundaries (differences) within
(inside) the community both in terms of hierarchy and in terms other than
hierarchy’ (Unnithan-Kumar 1997: 6).

In particular, I explore why people belonging to the Nandavanshi

subdivision represent themselves as members of the Yadu or Krishna vansh and
how these new identifications are in line with changes in marriage patterns and

76 The most common answers included in the category ‘Other’ consist of names of gots
(eight respondents); the name of subdivisions such Kamaria and Ghosi (four and two
respondents); and the category Ahir (one respondent).

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processes of fusion within the community. We know from the previous chapter
that this phenomenon is hardly a new one. One hundred years ago members of the
Ghosi subdivision began to represent themselves as Nandavanshi-Yadavs.
Conversely, by the beginning of the twentieth century, in order to be recruited to
the army the Nandavanshi-Yadavs of the same region began to represent
themselves as Yaduvanshi-Yadavs. The following sections show a process of
caste fusion which is not yet fully completed. At the moment Yadav local
subdivisions (Yaduvanshi, Goallavanshi and Nandavanshi) are neither separated
nor fully united. Such a situation is reflected by an ethnography which presents
contradictory and at times confusing data. Through an exploration of such
‘disorder’, the following sections attempt to document what is an ongoing process
of fusion.

Locality (place and territory) and subdivisions

Ahir Para, Anta Para and Sathgara are the traditional residential areas of the
Ahir/Yadavs of Mathura town. Ahir Para is mainly inhabited by Nandavanshi-
Yadavs; Anta Para by Yaduvanshi-Yadavs and Sathgara by Goallavanshi-Yadavs.
Despite claims of ‘common descent’ and ‘equality of rank’, the spatial
distribution of Mathura Yadavs reveals that there is still a residential demarcation
between the people belonging to different vanshs, and that this residential
separation is also accompanied by a moderate concern to mark ‘differences’
through the language of locality and territory. Locality is commonly used to
express relatedness (see Ostor, Fruzzetti and Barnett 1992; Lambert 1996, 2000),
and importantly to regulate marriage alliances. Moreover, informants (Yadav and
non-Yadav) often use this idiom to mark peoples’ physical and moral qualities
(see Sax 1991: 72-77), and to evaluate caste statuses (Mayer 1960:159).
Consequently, the link between Yadav lineal kinship, locality (and territory) is

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significant for a deep understanding of current transformations in the internal
structure of the Yadav community. 7 7

For centuries, Mathura town and the cultural area of Braj played an
important role in Ahir/Yadav community imagination. It constituted a special
landscape filled with icons of Ahir/Y adav caste historiography which have been
used by Yadav caste associations to support the claim that all Yadavs originally
come from the town of Mathura and are descendants of the god Krishna and
hence, fundamentally the same. These claims are usually formulated
simultaneously. Concepts of common descent, common place of origin and
common substance overlap, reinforce each other and support the unitary
ideological foundations of the Yadav community. The complex relation between
descent, status, persons and places in the Indian context has been widely explored
(Dumont 1964; Sax 1991: 72-77; Lambert 1996). The fact that Yadav social
leaders heavily used such an idiom to crosscut the social categories of Yadav
subdivisions can only reconfirm the importance of locality in constructing social
identities.

Ahir caste historiography shows how territory and locality have been used
historically to define and mark boundaries inside the community. The first
‘official’ descriptions of Ahir subdivisions emphasised ‘geographical origins’ and
‘territorial distribution’ as primary markers of differentiation amongst the various
Ahir branches: ‘.. .those of central Doab usually style themselves as Nandabans,
those to the west of the Yamuna and the Upper Doab, Jadubans and those in the
lower Doab and Benares, Gwallabans’ (Elliot 1869: 3). Similarly, the application
of the ‘martial race’ theory when applied to the Ahirs followed ‘locality’ rather
than clan membership (Chapter 2). This policy privileged the recruitment of Ahirs
from Ahirwal and contributed to creating an image of them as a superior kind of
Yadav. The martial race discourse was in line with indigenous notions of rank
which regard the Yadavs from the ‘west’ (namely Braj, Ahirwal, Rajasthan and
Gujarat) as more prestigious than the Yadavs from the ‘east’ (namely Agra

77 For comparative ethnographic data see Beck (1972); the importance of the relation
between territory and subdivisions is underlined by Fuller (1975: 305-306).

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division and Kanpur division) . 7 8 In northern India it is well known that the
geographical origins of Rajput-like ‘castes’ or ‘subcastes’ says something about
their status. In general, it is regarded that eastern Rajputs are ‘lower’, ‘backward’
and ‘underdeveloped’ compared with the Rajputs of ‘the West’ (see Mayer 1960:
154; Parry 1979: 279). Presumably, in the case of the Ahirs, such understandings
have been reinforced by colonial recruitment policies which favoured ‘western’
Yadavs, but certainly have not been created by them.

At the beginning of my fieldwork an elderly Yadav woman told me that if

I was keen to know the ‘correct’ vansh of a Yadav I had to ask where his
ancestors had come from and where his/her affines were living. The place of
origin of a member of the community together with that of his/her affines are
locally considered as synonymous with his/her subdivision and the prestige and
status attached to it. It follows that when informants wished to tell me to which
subdivision one of their caste mates belonged, they tended to mention his/her
geographical place of origin: ‘he is from western U.P.’ meant he is a
Nandavanshi, or ‘he is from Bhojpuri’ meant he is a Goallavanshi. Some
subdivisions are, therefore, confined to certain localities. Ancestral places are also
believed to have a bearing on the quality and status of their natives. Accordingly,
Mathura informants often identify certain areas as the motherland of superior
Yadavs, and other areas as the motherland of lower status Yadavs, generally using
the classic ‘east’/‘west’ barometer. Hence, the western territory of Ahirwal-Braj
was conceived as the place where ‘real’ Yadavs reside.

The following is a description of how such notions are locally expressed

in day-to-day caste behaviour. In the neighbourhood of Ahir Para, which is
traditionally dominated by Nandavanshi-Yadavs, the members of a local
Goallavanshi-Yadav lineage are still known as the videshi parivar (the foreign
family) regardless of the fact that they have been living in Mathura for the past
70
three generations. They come from Bihar, I was told, they are not ‘real’ Yadavs;
they were originally Mahipal, i.e. herders of buffaloes and not of cows like the

78 For an exploration of environmental determinism see Caplan (1995) and Robb (1995:
24).
79A similar example is described by Mayer in his ethnography of the village of Ramkheri
(1960: 158-159).

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Ahirs. Moreover, they are not considered as ‘Kshatriya’ (Warriors) like the
Nandavanshi and the Yaduvanshi-Yadavs of the neighbourhood: ‘They come
from the East.. .they are Bihari.. .they are not ‘real’ Rajputs’ (Aijun Yadav, 18
years old).

Aijun belongs to the Nandavanshi-Yadav subdivision and views ‘eastern’

Yadavs as inferior to the Yadavs of Braj and central Uttar Pradesh. When asked
about the status of the Goallavanshi-Yadavs who live in the neighbourhood of
Sathgara, he said that they were superior to the members of the videshi parivar,
and Bihari Yadavs in general. He explained his statement by saying that:
‘Mathura Goallavanshi Yadavs are the original Yadavs of Mathura, they do not
come from the East, they are from Braj like the Nandavanshi’.

Aijun’s understanding of status in terms of locality and ancestral place of

origin is widely shared in Ahir Para. It appears to be almost popular knowledge
that ‘western Yadavs’ (i.e. coming from Ahirwal-Braj, Rajasthan, Haryana and
Gujarat) are a superior category of Yadavs. Locality and territory also reflect the
internal hierarchies of Ahir/Yadav subdivisions by marking who is marriageable
and who is unmarriageable. Members of the three Mathura vanshs generally
recruit grooms and brides in different localities. The Nandavanshi-Yadavs of Ahir
Para have marriage alliances with the Ahir/Yadavs of western-central Uttar
Pradesh (namely the districts of Jaleshar, Hathras, Etah, Mainpuri, Farrukhabad,
Kannauj, Etawah); the Yaduvanshi-Yadavs of Anta Para, with the district of
Alwar and Bharatpur in Rajasthan and Mahendragarh in Haryana; while the
Goallavanshi of Sathgara have marriage relations within Mathura town or the
nearby Braj area (in particular within Agra town). Accordingly, the vansh is often
represented as the territory within which women are exchanged. However, these
spatial categories are quite flexible and are often adjusted according to political
and economic changes.

In Chapter 2 ,1 showed how the Ahir kingdom of Rewari and its royal
clans represented the apex of the internal social hierarchy of the Ahir caste. The
closer a clan was to the royal clans (in political terms), the higher its status was.
The imagery of the Ahir/Yadav Rewari Raj is still used today as a point of
reference to judge the quality of different Ahir subdivisions. In Mathura, the
Yadavs of the district of Mahendragarh and Gurgaon are always described as the

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heirs of the royal family and of warrior clans, and hence as having a noble descent
and pedigree. In Ahir Para the families that married their daughters ‘in Ahirwal’
are extremely proud of their affinal relations. By the same token, in Anta Para
informants never tired of reminding me that the neighbourhood was founded by
Anta Rao, a relative of Rao Tula Ram, the last king of Rewari, who escaped to
Mathura during the mutiny (see Chapter 5).

Despite the ongoing appeal of the former royal family and of Ahirwal as
an area inhabited by a superior category of Ahir/Y adavs, Ahir Para Yadavs as
well as Yadavs belonging to the other town neighbourhoods were equally proud
of telling me that they sent their daughters to the districts of Etawah, Kannauj or
Kanpur, which have ‘traditionally’ been considered ‘east’. Today, this area is
called the ‘Yadav belt’ (English word). I suggest that this terminology entered in
the conversations of my informants thanks to the influence of the media, in
particular of local newspapers. This terminology is often used by vernacular
publications to label the ‘territory’ ruled by Mulayam Singh Yadav: the kingdom
of Mulayam. Today, this region is considered the ‘territory’ of the Yadavs par
excellence. As mentioned in Chapter 1 in this area Yadavs have recently acquired
economic and political power.

As a consequence, brides from the ‘Yadav belt’, who until twenty years
ago were not considered suitable for matches with Mathura Yadavs, are now in
great demand. In addition Mathura Yadav girls are also given in marriage to
Etawah and Kanpur families. Thus, the ‘Yadav belt’ no longer appears to be
associated with low status Yadavs: ‘now that we have money and power the
Yadavs from Haryana and Braj are happy to send their daughters to east Uttar
Pradesh’ (Rakesh Yadav, 40 years old, and teacher).

Similarly, in recent times Ahir Para Yadavs have improved their economic
status. Today they are the most economically and politically well off amongst
Mathura Yadavs. A number of them take particular pride in identifying their
subdivisions with the Nandavanshi and, by association, with ‘the family’ of
Mulayam Singh Yadav. Their improved economic and political status and their
association with important political leaders seem to have increased their ritual
status locally. The Yadavs from the old part of the town (Anta Para and Sathgara)
traditionally thought of Ahir Para Yadavs as ‘U.P,-vala’: from Uttar Pradesh, and

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therefore as inferior to the Yadavs from Braj. Yadav political success locally and
in ‘the Yadav belt’ have refashioned this idea. Now Yadavs from the old part of
the city are happy to send their daughters to Sadar Bazaar, and in this way they
recognise the superiority of the Ahir Para Yadavs. In the following section I shall
return to this point.

Thus, politicised power has, to a certain extent, changed the low status of
‘the eastern Yadavs’ both at local and regional levels, although such a shift has
not affected the status of the ‘west’, which is still highly valued locally. I suggest
that what we are witnessing is a gradual homogenisation of status within the
Yadav social category. ‘Differences’ within the Ahir/Y adav subdivisions are
gradually becoming less pronounced as all Yadavs are transformed into superior
kinds of Yadavs (see Chapter 4).

It is not only Yadavs who are aware of such trends. Surprisingly, non-
Yadav informants were always prone to explain to me the differences between
‘the different types’ of Yadavs. In their explanations they also use the language of
locality. They relate different qualities and ritual status to different places of
origin. They usually distinguish two main subdivisions: the ‘Uttar Pradesh
Yadavs’ and the ‘Braj-Rajasthan-Haryana Ahirs’. The latter are described as
‘Ahirs’ and as upper castes (Kshatriya), the former as ‘Goallas’ and ‘Yadavs’, and
as lower castes (Shudra). For my non-Yadav informants, the title Ahir has much
on

more of a positive connotation than the title of Yadav. The latter is linked to the
Yadavs of Uttar Pradesh and to the ‘bad’ popular image promoted by the goonda
style of their politicians.

It follows that the Nandavanshi-Yadavs of Ahir Para are described by non-

Yadav informants as ‘the real’ Yadavs. Here, ‘real Yadavs’ stands for goondas

80 On the contrary for the Yadavs the term Ahir does not have good connotations. The
Yadavs are considered to be different from the Ahirs. This pervasive perception shows
how the passage from ‘Ahir’ to ‘Yadav’ has been both a technical change of community
denomination and a substantive change in behaviour and self-description. Although,
Yadavs in Ahir Para defend their traditional profession, they do not like to be called
Ahirs, their traditional pastoral name. They perceive it as derogatory and ‘backward’
because it does not contain the aura of historicity that is associated with the name
‘Yadav’.

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and for people ‘with muscle power*. In this regard, numerous times, I was told
that my choice of Ahir Para as a site for my research was an excellent one, not
only because the Yadavs were very numerous in the neighbourhood, but above all
because the Yadavs of Ahir Para were of the ‘right type*. In particular, with this
statement they meant that due to the agnatic and affinal ties with the political
network of the ‘Yadav belt’, Ahir Para Yadavs had political and economic power.
By saying this, they suggest that the kinship structure of the Nandavanshi
subdivision was still very strong and it was the main channel through which the
new political power was controlled and distributed. By being ‘close’ to the centre
of power, the Yadavs of Ahir Para were considered more likely to benefit from
the distribution of the ‘new’ opportunities and wealth.

I consider the fact that non-Yadav informants were often vividly interested
in pointing out different ‘kinds’ of Ahir/Yadavs as significant ethnographic data.
Firstly, this data is not consistent with the available literature (Mayer 1960: 159).
Internal caste differences are not usually perceived by outsiders because they do
not usually have a bearing on their caste behaviour. The question therefore arises
of why non-Yadav informants are interested in Yadav internal subdivisions, and
whether they treat different Yadav ‘types’ differently.

If, on the one hand, I collected innumerable comments about the

differences between the Ahirs and Yadavs, I never observed explicit caste
behaviours related to such normative views. What I can suggest is that when non-
Yadav informants distinguish between Yadavs and Ahirs, or between goonda-
Yadavs and Ahirs, and point to the latter as superior in rank they implicitly
contest the recent power and influence acquired by local goonda-Yadavs. Most of
these statements generally come from people belonging to higher castes such as
Banias, Brahmans and Rajputs. In particular, in the last fifty years the local Bania
community has lost political control of Sadar Bazaar (see Chapter 6 ). Such
political shifts have caused a lot of resentment, and this is often expressed by
pointing out how the status of the contemporary Uttar Pradesh goonda Yadavs is
lower than the status of, for example, the Rajasthani Ahirs who are not yet so
publicised as their Uttar Pradesh counterparts.

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Commensality

It is difficult to assess if there were marked commensal restrictions

between different Yadav subdivisions in Mathura in the past. A number of elder
informants said that the Nandavanshi-Yadavs of Ahir Para did not have
commensal relations with ‘the Yadavs of the city’. However, others said that
these statements were not true and that local Yadavs had always shared food and
smoked from the same hukka (water pipe) with other Ahir subdivisions and
related castes such as Jats, Gujars and Rajputs.

If commensal restrictions amongst the members of different vanshs have been

abandoned and the rule of commensality is more lax, what still represents an
important marker of difference between subdivisions is the kind of food eaten.
The eating of meat, fish and eggs is considered polluted by the Yadavs of Ahir
Para and Anta Para who in the last three generations have become strictly
vegetarian. However, a small number of Goallavanshi parivars (families) are still
non-vegetarian. These families are considered lower in status because they
indulge in eating non-vegetarian food. The Goallavanshi themselves hold a
different opinion. They claim that they are Krishnavanshi and Rajput and they say
that as Rajputs they eat meat and do blood sacrifice. Vegetarian Yadavs who
think of non-vegetarian Goallavanshi as ritually low and shameful for the whole
community do not take the Goallavanshi Kshatriya claim seriously.

Despite verbal statements I have never observed subcaste ritual differences

manifesting themselves in day-to-day ‘caste behaviours’. Now onlypakka food is
served during marriages and it is cooked by specialists. This allows members of
different castes and subcastes to eat the food offered on the occasion of wedding
or funerary feasts. I was present at the marriage of the daughter of an extremely
wealthy Jatav (an ex-untouchable) in which representatives of all Sadar Bazaar
castes participated. They did not have a problem eating at the marriage because,
as they told me: all the food was pakka and cooked by a clean caste man. At the
regional meetings of the AIYM and local caste associations attended by Yadavs

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from different regions both pakka and kacca food is served. This menu is often
used as a public statement of the ‘unity’ of the Yadavs.

Indigenous theories about Mathura Yadav subdivisions: functional

explanations and ideologies o f blood

This section explores how the boundaries of the Mathura Yadav vanshs are
drawn, nullified or contested by various local narratives. It describes the most
popular explanations of the origins of the vanshs provided by informants and how
these, in turn recognise, reinforce or invalidate differences of rank amongst
Mathura Yadavs. These explanations are basically of two types. The first
emphasise history, power and wealth as the basis of differentiation and rank, and
the second emphasise ideologies of blood and ancestral origins. These
explanatory theories often conflate, overlap and coexist in the understandings and
manifestations of internal community hierarchy. To begin with I illustrate the
views of Yadavs who believe in the occupational and material basis of their
subdivisions. I then go on to describe the views of informants who privilege an
‘ethnological’ theory of caste and for whom ancestry matters more than other
attributes of internal caste hierarchy.

The supporters of the first line of explanation say that the descendants of
Krishna were employed in different professions and hence had different economic
and political statuses. Accordingly, the Ahirs who were big landlords and petty
rajas were named Yaduvanshi. The Nandavanshi caste title was instead attached
to owners of large herds. Finally, the milk-sellers and simple cowherders were
named Goallavanshi. Informants thereby firmly link the origin and status of their
local branches to occupation, wealth and power. In addition, they also add that
once a lineage/parivar (family) achieved economic wealth, their members were
likely to adopt a higher caste title such as Yaduvanshi or Nandavanshi; and then
they were gradually accepted into the marriage circles of higher ranked segments.
In order to prove their explanations informants drew my attention to the current
marriage alliances of local wealthy Goallavanshi-Yadav families with
Nandavanshi and Yaduvanshi-Yadavs. These examples were used to describe

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how the vansh categorisation is flexible and its status achieved rather than
ascribed.

Materialistic and functional folk explanations are accompanied by equally

popular theories which emphasise blood and descent as the basis of vansh origins,
and rank rather than profession and achieved status. Accordingly, vansh
membership is determined by birth, and its status by the deepness of the
genealogical and affinal ties with the ancestor Krishna. Hence, members of the
three vanshs claim to be descendants of Lord Krishna or of his kin and affines: the
closer the genealogical ties with the god Krishna, the higher the status of the
subgroup seems to be conceived.

For instance, the Nandavanshi-Yadavs claim to descend from Nanda. The

story goes as follows. In order to protect Krishna from the evil designs of Kamsa,
the king of Mathura who wanted to kill the little god, Vasudev (Krishna’s father)
asked the cowherder Nanda to protect the newborn child.

Vasudev, the father of Krishna .. .who belongs to the Chandravanshi

branch and was therefore a Yadav... married Devaki (the cousin sister
of Nanda). Vasudev saved the life of the just bom Krishna. He carried
him to Gokul, the village nearby Mathura, where Nanda Baba lived.
Nanda was the head of the cowherd village; he and Yasoda, his wife,
were king and queen. (Hari Singh Yadav, 75 years old, milk seller).81
Nanda Baba was a Gopa who possessed lakhs and lakhs of cows. The
Gopas were not mere servants and slaves just engaged to clean the
cattle-shed as Shudras. They were previous Devas and friends of Lord
Krishna. They were very rich and very devoted to the god. Nanda
went to Kamsa to pay his tributes, and he asked Nanda’s tribe to
protect Gokul. This shows that the Nandavanshi were valorous
Kshatriya warriors (Gopi Chand Yadav, 60 years old, former civil
servant, Mathura Electric Board).

Thus, Nanda is described as a ‘king’ and as a wealthy man with the qualities of a
brave warrior. These tales illustrate the wealth and military status of the ancestor
of the Nandavanshi-Yadavs. Importantly, they also illustrate the status of the
Goallavanshi-Yadavs, whose ancestors were simple people who ‘clean the cattle-
sheds’ and were not Kshatriya. The Nandavanshi-Yadavs of Ahir Para at times
use this story to prove the superiority of the Nandavanshi over the Goallavanshi.

81 Vasudev’s wife, Devaki, who is an avatar of Aditi, is the mother of Krishna; his
second wife Rohini gave birth to Balram, Krishna’s elder brother.

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 However, the Yaduvanshi-Yadavs and the Goallavanshi-Yadavs hold
different opinions. A significant number of informants from the Goallavanshi
community of Sathgara claim to be the descendants of the cowherders: the
mythical Gopas and Gopis of Gokul among whom Krishna grew up. They think
of themselves as the ‘real’ Yadavs, and again use ideologies of blood.

When Lord Krishna left Braj to go to Dwarka in Gujarat, all his

kindred followed him and they dispersed all over India... we the
Yadavs of Mathura town are the only direct descendants left (Ragu
Yadav, 55 years old, Sweet-shop owner).

They claim that their ancestors had been in Mathura since its very foundation.
From the Goallavanshi point of view, those who remain in the city are the ‘real’
Yadavs. They say that the Yadavs who left Mathura diluted their pure blood by
intermarriage with other communities (Prahlad Yadav father, 60 years old,
cowherder, milk-seller). Others support the same argument, although instead of
linking it with the epic Mahabharata war they link it with Muslim invasion and
rule. ‘During the centuries of various Muslim invasions in Mathura, there were
different migrations of Yadavs to other parts of the India. The marriage relations
were therefore broken off and a number of different Yadav subgroups were
established’ (Bhagvan Das, 60 years old, cowherder, milk-seller and
moneylender). From the Goallavanshi-Yadavs’ point of view those who remained
in Mathura and Braj are the ‘real’ Yadavs and the direct descendents of Krishna.
This is also supported by their marriage practices which until twenty years ago
privileged marriage alliances within Mathura town or Braj. 8 2 Thus, Sathgara
Yadavs see themselves as the autochthonous Yadavs, and look down on the
Yadavs of Ahir Para who in contrast emigrated almost one hundred years ago
from adjacent districts in Uttar Pradesh. In such statements the idiom of locality
and descent mix together and reinforce each other.

If the Goallavanshi-Yadavs consider themselves as superior, the same also

applies to the Yadavs of Anta Para who consider themselves superior to both the
Goallavanshi and the Nandavanshi. Anta Para Yaduvanshi-Yadavs are also
known as ‘gari-valas’ - conductors and drivers. Traditionally their profession was

82 Similar practices are fond amongst the Chaube caste/community. See Lynch (1990,
1996).

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transportation. ‘Krishna in the Mahabharata, and in the famous episode of the
Bhagavad Gita, was the conductor of Aijuna’s chariot. The gari-valas carry on
his profession’ (Satya Prakash Singh Yadav, ibid.). The Yaduvanshi of Anta Para
served the local Mathura royal family, the Seth, as transport-dealers and also as
administrators. Moreover, they claim to descend from members of the lineages of
the Ahir royal clans of Rewari town in the district of Mahendragarh in Haryana;
and finally from Krishna.

‘The ancient Kshatriya had two branches: the Suryavansha and the
Chandravansha. King Yayati was bom in the Chandravansha. During
King Yayati’s reign there were 32,000 princesses who ruled
throughout the country. Yadu was his eldest son. Yadu had four
brothers. Their descendants were called Yaduvanshi’ (Satya Prakash
Singh Yadav, 50 years old, English teacher).

To sum up, Anta Para Yadavs claim to descend from Yadu, the founder of the
Yadav dynasty, the Nandavanshi-Yadavs claim descent from the foster father of
Krishna, i.e. Nanda, and the Goallavanshi-Yadavs from the Gopis and Gopas
amongst whom Krishna grew up. In their narratives they all stress ‘their special’
relation with Krishna and each subgroup argues it is more close to Krishna than
the others. On the whole, a large number of informants think that the closer the
genealogical ties with the god Krishna, the more prestigious the subdivision. Rank
is therefore thought of as organised according to the perceived purity of the
mythological ancestral blood of the king, and god from whom they claim descent.
Such understandings show how ultimately patrilineal descent is privileged over
matrilineal descent and affinal ties. The highest rank is attributed to the
descendants of Krishna. Such assumptions constitute the basis of the Yadav
caste/community descent ideology diffused by the Mahasabha, which states that
all Yadavs equally descend from Krishna and hence are all Krishnavanshi (or
Yaduvanshi). The fact that 18 per cent of Ahir Para Yadavs define themselves as
Krishnavanshi-Yadavs shows how the ideology of blood and descent is working
successfully. This is largely because it is congruent with the way members of
different vansh have ranked their subgroups for centuries.

So far I have described the two most popular models and narratives used
by Mathura informants to describe the origin of their subgroups and their ranking
in relation to the others. However, the way such models are articulated varies

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according to the informants’ social background, and importantly, their age. It is,
therefore, extremely problematic to make any systematic descriptions of the
intentions and beliefs that my informants attach to internal group differentiations.
In the next section I attempt to overcome this problem by analysing the attitudes
of different age groups in Ahir Para. This exploration shows how internal
subdivisions are important for many old informants, but not for the younger
generations. This generational decline suggests that subdivisions are likely to die
out in the near future.

Talking about vanshs and the internal social hierarchy in Ahir

Para/Sadar Bazaar

Hari Singh Yadav belongs to the Jaweria got and to the ‘Chaudhri Parivar’. He is
70 years old and nowadays spends most of his days with his friends at the
Mahadev Ghat, bathing in the Yamuna and chatting. His father was in the milk
business and his grandfather was in the army. At times he told me that he
belonged to the vansh of Nanda, while at other times he represented himself as a
Yaduvanshi-Yadav. According to him, there are two main subdivisions: the
Yaduvanshi and Nandavanshi on one hand, and the Goallavanshi on the other.
The first two are considered synonymous with ‘wealthy men’ or ‘men of power’,
while the latter is synonymous with milk-sellers and cowherders and is hence
inferior.

Similarly, many informants in their seventies and eighties tend to define

themselves as Yaduvanshi-Yadavs even if other members of their families state
that they are Nandavanshi-Yadavs. I suggest that this trend is in tune with the
political and historical environment in which people belonging to different
generations grew up. Older people are sons or nephews of army officers and the
roots of their values and thoughts should be explored in the context of the military
culture which I described in the previous chapter. Many of the grandfathers or
great-grandfathers of my informants were in the army and identified themselves
more with the Yaduvanshi category, in which the colonial administration
recognised special racial and martial attitudes, than with the Nandavanshi one,

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which was excluded for a long time from military recruitment. The previous
chapter illustrated how at the beginning of the century the Nandavanshi started to
represent themselves as Yaduvanshi in order to be recruited to the army and how
such subcaste identity acquired new importance by becoming a political and
economic asset.

Ahir Para Yadavs who define themselves as Yaduvanshi-Yadav

consistently told me that there are no differences between the Nandavanshi and
the Yaduvanshi-Yadavs. They told me the same stories that their ancestors told to
the British Army recruiting agents. They said that since Krishna was believed to
be the son of Nanda his descendants were called Nandavanshi. The Nandavanshi
and Yaduvanshi were therefore two caste titles which define the same ‘kind’ of
people. Hari Singh Yadav often pointed out to me that even the British recognised
that the members of the vansh of Nanda and the members of the vansh of Yadu
were fundamentally the same: ‘Balbir Singh Yadav of the Rewari family, the
descendant of the Raja Tula Ram, was a friend of a British military officer who
was posted in Mathura. He often used to pay him visits. During these visits he
promoted the recruitment of all the Ahirs and he used to say that the Nandavanshi
title and the Yaduvanshi title have the same meaning’ (Hari Singh Yadav).

Balbir Singh Yadav is 80 years old and claims to be a Yaduvanshi-Yadav.

He used to be a well-known wrestler. His vision of Ahir/Y adav subdivisions is
different from that described above. He refers to the Yaduvanshi subdivision as
ritually superior to the Nandavanshi one. According to him the Yaduvanshi-
Yadavs are the ‘real’ Ahirs. They come from Ahirwal and they are Kshatriyas and
valorous soldiers. He considers the members of different vansh as members of
different ‘species’ (jati). On the whole, he shows a strong attachment to what has
been represented as the ‘traditional’ caste system. He is one of the persons in the
mohalla who represents the different subsections of the Yadavs as truly bounded
and separated social units. He is still preoccupied with defining ranked subcaste
barriers. For him Nandavanshi and Yaduvanshi are not mere titles defining men
with a certain social and economic status, but define two ‘subcastes’ in which
membership is by birth.

So far I have illustrated the views of elder informants. However, amongst

the persons who define themselves as Yaduvanshi-Yadavs there is also a large

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number of young persons who are mainly in their twenties and thirties. In most
cases when they portray themselves as Yaduvanshi they do not intend to present
themselves as members of a more prestigious subdivision. In fact, most of the
time they really think of themselves as Yaduvanshi-Yadavs. What young people
know is that they are ‘Yadavs’ and that they are the descendants of ‘Yadu’ the
progenitor of Krishna. They know about their got but do not know about the
existence of other endogamous subdivisions; for them all the Yadavs are ‘sons of
Krishna’. Thus, they are not interested in marking differences between the vanshs.
What they do stress is the martial quality of Yadav blood. The mythological tales
of the Yaduvanshi are considered more like ‘histories of the Yadav community’
rather than of particular sub-groups. Such stories do not possess the normative
power of the ‘traditional’ mythological vansh tales, which contributed to the
creation of status barriers between the different vanshs. Claiming to be
Yaduvanshi in this fashion is equal to claiming to be Krishnavanshi. I further
explore such positions in the next section.

The Krishnavanshi-Yadavs

So far I have illustrated on the one hand how contemporary Mathura Yadavs still
differentiate themselves in terms of vansh, and on the other how an increasing
number of people view their community as internally undifferentiated. Such ideas
are accompanied by the popular assumption that contemporary Yadav
subdivisions are the outcome of the fission of an original group: the descendants
of Krishna, and that all the Yadav belong to a unique stock. It is to this vision that
people refer when they claim to be Krishnavanshi-Yadavs. I did not encounter the
Krishnavanshi caste title in any of the ethnographies of the Ahir/Yadavs recorded
in colonial times, nor in ethnographies collected more recently (Rao 1979). For
the Yadavs of Ahir Para, being Krishnavanshi-Yadavs means belonging to the
Krishna line of descent. Although, the Krishnavanshi social category is at times
interchangeable with the Yaduvanshi title (both define a ‘Yadav’ of higher
pedigree and pure descent), the former is not used as a descriptive title for
zamindar or for ‘wealthy’ lineages. Being Krishnavanshi means descent from

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Krishna; no occupation or title are specifically connected with it. Accordingly,
Nandavanshi, Yaduvanshi and Goallavanshi-Yadavs are all indisputably
Krishnavanshi-Yadavs and hence are heirs of an immutable essence which is
unique to the entire community.

The Krishnavanshi social category is not connected with a specific

territory; the territory is India, or at least northern India. It is not connected with a
specific endogamous unit either. The entire Yadav vansh is viewed like a large
endogamous group. In many ways the Krishnavanshi caste title and its
connotations reflect the ideology spread by the All India Yadav Mahasabha which
states that all the Yadavs are equal and that they all descend from Krishna.
Moreover, since the Krishnavanshi caste title is considered synonymous with
Yaduvanshi, and hence with Yadavs of a superior status, this social category
equalises all the members of the community at the higher level of internal
hierarchy of the Ahir/Yadav caste/community. Nandavanshi-Yadavs with
different backgrounds choose this self-representation. However, it is difficult to
describe a general trend and to make specific abstractions.

Those who are more politically involved tend to use this terminology more
often, but it is also widespread among other people. Prahlad Yadav is 45 years old
and he works for the Mathura Electric Board. He describes himself as a
Krishnavanshi. He belongs to the generation that started to contest the
‘traditional’ leadership of the elders. This generation has been strongly influenced
by the changing politics of Independent India. Social and economic justice is their
motto. Like most of his contemporaries, Prahlad Yadav was an active member in
the promotion of the implementation of the Mandal commission. He is committed
to the idea that institutionalised social inequalities should be abolished. He
represents the Yadavs as the leaders of the Backward Classes of the whole of
India. His caste consciousness and pride has been bolstered more by the political
success of members of his community than by its ‘lustrous martial origins’, which
was the case for his father and grandfathers. He recognises the importance of the
unity of the caste. He sees these divisions and separations as obsolete, as
something of the past and synonymous with ‘backwardness’ and ‘non-progress’.
He portrays himself as a ‘modem’ and ‘developed’ Krishnavanshi-Yadav.

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 I met a large number of people like Prahlad, for whom caste distinctions in
general, and subdivision distinctions in particular, are viewed as values which
should not be publicly supported. These divisions are supposed to be bad and
have been eroded and substituted by the overwhelming importance of the innate
and immutable Yadav identity. Caste amalgamation is considered almost a moral
value. So-called traditional caste values are regarded as synonymous with an
immobile society and a backward social order. The Krishnavanshi-Yadavs see
themselves as ‘modem’ members of a national Yadav community. They adhere to
a ‘substantiated’ idea of caste and such a position is continuously reinforced by
their promotion of subcaste fusion. The next sections explore the ways in which
‘modem’ identifications with the Krishnavanshi social category have been
translated into practical behaviour and have changed values attached to
endogamy, exogamy and hypergamy.

The Clan (got)

Up to now I have illustrated how the social category of the vansh is ill defined
and open to manipulation. Contrary to that, this section shows how the got (clan)
is unambiguously defined as a patrilineal group whose membership is strictly by
birth. 8 3 There is no way of changing got membership. Until marriage the got of a
woman is the got of her father; then she assumes the got of her husband. Got
membership is, therefore, by blood and descent and it cannot be acquired in other
ways. But got membership can be lost by an individual if, for example, he marries
a Muslim or a member of an untouchable caste. The got is strictly exogamous (see
Tiemann 1970; Alavi 1994). Members of the same got are like ‘brothers and

83 Got is the local pronunciation of gotra. The got is a patrilineal group and it is strictly
exogamous. The Yaduvanshi and Nandavanshi subdivisions are subdivided into
exogamous gots, while the Goallavanshi social category does not have such a consistent
got system.
The Rajputs of Kangra described by Parry (1979) are divided into patricians. Several
patricians share a common gotra. Clans are exogamous to a similar extent to gotra. This
system has some similarities with the system found among the Goallavanshi. The
Goallavanshi-Yadavs of Mathura declare to belong to the same gotra, named after a rishi
Kashap. Within this gotra there are further subdivisions, which can be identified as gots.

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sisters’, and brothers can not marry their sisters. The Yadavs of Ahir Para tend to
follow the ‘four-got rule’: a man must not marry a woman of his own, his
mother’s, his father’s mother’s and mother’s mother’s got. Nowadays the ‘four-
got rule’ is more relaxed and generally people only tend to avoid marriage into
the got of their father and their mother. These exogamous rules determine who is
unmarriageable.

Informants often underlined how ‘scientific’ their got system is.

According to them, this was ‘proved’ by the example of ‘farming’. If you
cultivate the same crop on the same piece of land year after year, the production
will decrease and the earth will become sterile. However, if you cultivate different
seeds every year the production increases. This metaphor was used to explain to
me that children bom of parents of the same got were not healthy and strong.
Similarly, in the ‘Yadav ethnographies’ written by Yadav amateur ‘historians’,
there is always a large section devoted to the social category of the got. Usually
long lists of the most famous gots are accompanied by essays which stress the
need to preserve the got as symbol of Yadav culture; and to preserve the vigour of
the Yadav ‘race’ (see for example Yadav Kul Dipika 1999: 23). If, on the one
hand, the rhetoric used by Yadav social and political leaders encourages the
dissolution and amalgamation of all the different Yadav subdivisions, on the
other, it encourages the protection of the institution of the got viewed as a symbol
of Yadav culture. Following the rules of exogamy is strongly prescribed for the
preservation of ‘the Yadav spirit’ and the reproduction of the community. The
mles of exogamy are said to guarantee ‘the circulation of blood’ (see also Parry
1979: 223). Again there is emphasis on patrilineal descent as a feature of the
Yadav caste community. Local understandings of the vansh and the got conflate,
therefore, into different but complementary ideologies of blood.

Amongst the Yadavs the got usually has a dispersed territorial

membership. In Ahir Para almost everybody knew his or her got and could
provide its myth of origin and the story of its lineage deity. However, the
importance informants give to patrilineal descent, the way they identify
themselves with a common mythical ancestor or with a common clan deity and
the grade of complexity of the rules of exogamy followed, varies from lineage to
lineage. Such graduality renders it extremely complex to identify a consistent

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social hierarchy amongst Ahir Para local clans. At the localised level what is
more salient is the status of the different lineages.

Despite this general pattern, which I describe in detail in the following

sections, there are a number of clans that are locally considered to be prestigious
independently from the economic and political status of their localised segments.
For example, the Aphariya and the Kosa gots of Ahirwal are locally still
considered ‘royal’ clans. The marriage of the nephew of A.P. Yadav, the local
Samajwadi Party leader, with a girl belonging to the Aphariya clan was a topic of
conversation for days in the neighbourhood. The prestige of the got was endlessly
drawn to my attention more than the fact that the bride’s father was a powerful
politician in the nearby Etah district. The Motha got is another clan locally
considered ‘prestigious’ because their members were the former zamindar of the
cluster of Ahir villages in Farah, near Mathura. Similarly, the Phataks are highly
respected as the descendants of the Raja of Chittor and the daughter of the Ahir
king of Mahabhan (near Mathura). The legend goes as follows: ‘once the Raja of
Chittor was assaulted by the emperor of Delhi. Only the 12th gate (Phataks) of the
tVi
city resisted. To commemorate the signal of bravery of the guard of the 12 gate,
the king issued a decree that they and their descendants should forever be known
after the name of Phatak’ . 8 4

Locally the Phataks are regarded as ‘more* Rajput than the average
Yadavs. They wear big moustaches in the Rajput fashion, they run the local
akhara, and they are at the head of the ritual organisation of the mohalla. One
afternoon I was at the Mahadev Ghat chatting with some older men who were
playing cards. A group of pilgrims from Rajasthan arrived to take a bath in the
Yamuna River. Tej Singh Yadav (70 years old, former government employee)
began to chat with them and asked where they were from and to which jati they

84 ‘The descendants of the Raja and his Ahir lady settled first at Samohan, whence they
gradually spread until they established themselves along the banks of the Jamuna, and
from this inaccessible stronghold raided the territory to the north, finally obtaining
possession of the whole Sirsa and Jamuna Duab in Pargana Shikoabad’ (Lupton 1906). I
Ahir clans mythologies it is quite common to find that the ancestor of the clan was a son
of a Rajput man and an Ahir woman, never the opposite. This suggests the existence of
marriage alliances between Ahir and Rajput clans. The relation was not of reciprocity,
but hypergamous, with presumed wife-givers lower in status than wife-takers.

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belonged. They were Rabaries, a pastoral caste from Rajasthan. When they came
to know that Tej Singh Yadav was Phatak they immediately touched his feet in a
sign of respect. This is only one among a number of episodes I witnessed in
which extra respect for the member of the Phatak got was shown. Other than that
I was not able to reconstruct any consistent hierarchy among the different gots
present in the neighbourhood and generally people said that gots were equal.

Lineage {parivar)

Locally, prestige is attached to parivars (lineages) rather than gots (clans) and
there are parivars which are more prestigious and wealthier than others. 8 5 If the
term got is the most used in conversation about marriage, whenever members of a
got wish to refer to the localised level of the got (sub-go/) the term parivar is
most commonly used. Parivar is used to talk about the localised segment of the
got and about the group of agnates with whom individuals normally have direct
contact. With the term parivar, therefore, people in general indicate a lineage
which traces descent from the ancestor who first settled in the neighbourhood, or
alternatively, a maximal lineage. In the latter case, different parivars claim
descent and agnatic ties to the same ancestor.

Besides defining the extension of agnatic kin in the neighbourhood,

parivar is also used to define the extended family which also recognises affinal
relations. Moreover, parivar can indicate a less defined category of ‘social
contacts’. The use of the term and concept is indeed highly flexible. Kinship and
fictive kinship relations defined as parivar are expanded in a very manipulative
way. At times parivar substitutes the category of community: ‘the Yadav parivar’
or ‘the Krishna parivar ’.

85 A similar structure has been recorded amongst the Maratha clans, see Carter (1974:
97).

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The Chaudhri Parivar, the Dudh Parivar and the Netaji Parivar in
Ahir Para: economic graduality

The Ahir/Yadavs who migrated to Ahir Para at the end of the nineteenth century
were mainly of Central Uttar Pradesh origin. During British times the majority of
the Yadav families migrated from the neighbouring districts of Etah, Mainpuri,
Kannauj and Farrukhabad. Mathura was an important military training site.
Many Ahir soldiers ended up spending some time in Mathura before being posted
to other parts of the country. Ahirs, however, found employment not only as
soldiers but also as bullock-cart and/or truck drivers. Moreover, military service
was not the only source of employment and income offered by the Army
structure. The Cantonment administration needed manpower and many Ahirs
found employment there as peons. Furthermore, the civil and military population
of the Cantonment needed substantial and regular milk supplies. As a
consequence many Ahirs worked in the Cantonment Dairy and others set up their
own milk business. 8 7 Local people indicate two families, both originally from
Kannauj as the founders of Ahir Para. Today, these two families are known as the
‘Chaudhri Parivar’ (the Head Family) and the ‘Dudh Parivar’ (the Milk Family).
The first belong to the Javeria got of the Nandavanshi/Ghosi subdivision, the
second to the Deshwar got of the Nandavanshi/Kamaria subdivision. At the end of
QQ

the nineteenth century the founding ancestor of the ‘Chaudhri Parivar’, Gopa

86Historical data on the migration pattern from the district of Farrukhabad suggest that by
the end of the nineteenth century the population of the area started to decrease visibly. In
1877-78, there was a big famine and in 1888 a disastrous flood. Entire Ahir families left
their villages to reach Mathura where their kin were employed as sepoys or in the
Cantonment administrative bodies.
87 The military authorities in part regulated this business. There was a Military Dairy
Farm a couple of kilometres distant from Sadar Bazaar and a milk dairy in the
Cantonment itself which provided milk for the troops and also for the civilians. In the
latter the milk was procured with the help of contractors on fixed commission basis. The
contractors were big milk producers engaged in herding livestock and in collecting milk
from producers of nearby villages through assistants and/or subcontractors.
I have collected most of this information from documents preserved in the Archives of
the Cantonment, Cantonment Board Office. Meeting Board Registers'. From 1924 to
August 1999.
88 For a comparative ethnographic description of the uses of nicknames in referring to
lineages or segments of lineages see Parry (1979: 136-137).

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Baba Ahir, arrived from the village Dai Ka Pura near Kannauj. He was a simple
soldier. I was not able to trace which Regiment he belonged to. Gopa Baba Ahir
had two sons. One died without descendants while the other, Hari Baba, had two
sons: Sona and Uda. Today Ahir Para is almost completely inhabited by the
descendants of these two main maximal lineages.

The ancestor of the ‘Dudh Parivar’ of the Deshwar got was Tulsi Ram.
Tulsi Ram is said to have come to Mathura from Kannauj. He was a sepoy.
Unfortunately, I was not able to collect further biographical data. Since the
descendants of Tulsi Ram used to manage the Cantonment Dairy, the ‘family’ is
locally known as the ‘Dudh Parivar’. Today the parivar is split into two maximal
lineages. The members of one lineage live in a single group of houses in Ahir
Para, while the other lives in the neighbouring mohallas.

The third numerically strong parivar in the neighbourhood is that of the

Phatak. There are four maximal lineages belonging to the Phatak got. They
immigrated to Mathura at different times and they do not recognise any common
direct genealogical link. They are known locally by their got name: Phatak.
Finally, among the big ‘families’ that make up the population of Ahir Para is the
‘Netaji Parivar’ of the Vadya got. The leading member of the family is the
president of the Samajwadi Party of Mathura district and a ‘professional’
politician {neta alias Netaji Parivar). After Independence his father came to Ahir
Para from Agra. The ‘family’ is constituted by a single large lineage consisting of
six households.

The ‘Chaudhri Parivar’, the ‘Dudh Parivar’, ‘the Phatak Parivar’ and the
‘Netaji Parivar’ are the main ‘families’ of Ahir Para. However, they do not make
up the entire Yadav population of Sadar Bazaar. There are many other small
parivars which live in Ahir Para itself, or in the other mohallas of Sadar Bazaar.
These lineages are the localised segments of a significant number of gots (see
Table 3.1).

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Table 3.1: Yadav Clan Distribution in Sadar Bazaar
Got Percent Number
Jaweria 27% 18
Phatak 14% 9
Shepavan 5% 3
Gudava 5% 3
Kullahd 5% 3
Badaun 3% 2

Yadu 3% 2

Ghorcharda 3% 2

Bhilanta 3% 2

Vadya 3% 2

Bhurgude 3% 2

Chora 3% 2

Sondele 2 % 1

Kshayap 2 % 1

Nandavanshi 2 % 1

Deshwar 2% 1

Balotia 2 % 1

Gangapanthi 2 % 1

Dulbatta 2 % 1

Dhomaria 2 % 1

Jebra 2 % 1

Mauadhar 2 % 1

Badsat 2 % 1

Rawat 2 % 1

Don’t Know 6% 4
Source: Mathura Survey, 1999
Notes: Table entries based on all Yadav respondents. Column percentage does not add up too 100
due to rounding errors.

The bulk of my ethnographic data comes from the four main parivars described
above. In Chapter 6 , 1 discuss the political salience of the parivar in the
factionalised world of Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar. Chapter 4 looks at the religious
nature of the parivar and got and the changes it has undergone. The following
sections illustrate how the Yadav community’s internal economic graduality
combined with their shared value of paternal descent results in flexible
endogamous practices informed by preferential hypergamous marriages.

Ideologies of marriage and processes of fusion

156
To this point I have shown how the boundaries of Yadav subdivisions in Mathura
town are quite blurred. Gradations of subcaste rank no longer exist in commensal
situations. By the same token, high economic and political status no longer
corresponds to particular subdivisions. In addition, subdivision myths of origin
tend to be conflated with the encompassing story of Krishna. Younger generations
increasingly understand their community as a kin community or as a large descent
group with a common ancestor. In the next chapter I illustrate how the Hinduism
local Yadavs follow has become more Sanskritised, and how this phenomena has
led to greater status homogeneity within the community. These transformations
have contributed to the creation of a community in which, at least ideally,
different subdivisions are conceptualised as equal and not ritually ranked. 8 9

However, this does not mean that contemporary Yadav society is not
permeated by hierarchical values. In contrast, it is highly competitive and
hierarchical. Differences in the ritual sphere are not very sharp, so that inequality
among local Yadavs are today primarily a product of economic and political
conditions. Competition between different parivars is usually expressed by
marriages and by a preference for hypergamous marriage alliances. The ideal is
for the parents of a girl to marry their daughter into a family of higher prestige.
During fieldwork, whenever marriage arrangements were made, my attention was
regularly drawn to the status of the bride’s family and of the groom’s family.
What was mostly at stake was the wealth and political power of the affines and
not the subdivisions to which they belonged (e.g. Yaduvanshi, Nandavanshi or
Goallavanshi). Locally, the members of the different vanshs are so heterogeneous
in terms of wealth and power that wealthy members of the Nandavanshi often
pointed out to me that there were more differences between them and other Yadav
parivars in their neighbourhood, than between them and a number of wealthy
Goallavanshi parivars in the neighbourhood of Sathgara.

In Sadar Bazaar, Yadavs’ economic graduality is extremely visible. Well-

off segments of parivars live close to poor ones and their different economic
status is reflected in the outside appearance of their houses, in their internal

89 As Pocock suggests: ‘the major difference between economic graduality and graduality
of social practices is that in the latter respect, as far as any one village is concerned, the
tendency will be towards a greater homogeneity’ (1972: 64).

157
decorations, and in the food they offer to visitors. This visible wealth disparity is
supported by economic data collected amongst different Ahir Para Yadav
parivars. These quantitative data not only show the economic heterogeneity
present within the community but also that the Yadavs are amongst the most
economically diverse castes in Sadar Bazaar. In Chapter 1, Table 1.5 shows how
Brahmans are the richest caste in Sadar Bazaar (43% rich compared with 14%
poor), closely followed by Banias (32% rich compared with just 7% poor). The
other upper castes are fairly concentrated in the middle category (74%) with
relatively few rich and poor, as are the Scheduled Castes (64% middle), although
to a slightly lesser extent. The Yadavs and the Muslims are the most economically
heterogeneous castes in Sadar Bazaar. The substantial proportion in both the
poorest and richest categories illustrates this.90 Figure 1 shows the economic
distribution of the Yadavs in Sadar Bazaar.

Figure 4: Economic distribution of Yadavs, Sadar Bazaar

60 t -

Poorest Middle Richest

Source: Mathura Survey

90 Interestingly, the majority of the Muslims interviewed belong to the Meo caste
community who claim Rajput ancestry and share a similar kinship structure with the
Yadavs, Jats and Gujars, see Mayaram (1997: 132).

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The Ahir/Yadav caste/community presents a significant level of graduality. As
described in Chapter 2, such a trend is not a novel phenomenon. In many ways,
Mathura Yadavs’ internal organisation is consistent with Pocock’s description of
the Patidars in Gujarat. Yadav economic graduality is reflected in their marriage
ideologies. As in the case of the Patidars, for any particular Yadav there are true
Yadavs with whom he or his family has, or would like to have, a marriage
connection (Pocock 1972: 2). ‘The good marriage’ is hypergamous.

Endogamy, hypergamy, exogamy: the reproduction of vanshs and

the creation of the Yadav community

As mentioned previously, ‘loosely structured castes* (see Orenstein 1963 and

Lobo 1989) which are internally heterogeneous and privilege paternal descent are
characterised by flexible endogamous practices, which are informed by
preferential hypergamous marriages (see also Yalman 1969). In such amorphous
castes there is a general unconcern with the reproduction of subcaste groups
through endogamous marriages. Such unconcern can be reinforced by modem
caste ideologies which encourage inter-subcaste marriages.

Mayer (1960,1996: 57) showed how ‘the concept of kindred of

recognition’ has not changed over th6 years. Contrary to that, Mathura Yadav
ethnography suggests that there has been a transformation in the way notions of
subcaste endogamy are today understood; and these transformations are linked to
changes in marriage practices. Moreover, although cross-caste marriages are still
very rare, a large number of informants think that marriage outside the caste
community is theoretically possible as long as it is ‘arranged’ and ‘hypergamous’.

Many have already recorded the expansion of endogamous units which

unite different groups with equal status (e.g. Fuller 1975; Kolenda 1978: 151;
Mandelbaum 1970: 2:653; Vatuk 1982). Most often endogamy is described as the
most vital attribute of caste and at the empirical levels the principal regulator of
marriage alliances (Kolenda, 1978; Mayer 1996; Bayly 1999). Beteille’s (1996)
work is one of the few dissenting voices. He illustrates how, amongst the

159
metropolitan middle class, rules of endogamy are no longer rigorously followed.
However, very little material documents changes in ideologies of marriage and
marriage patterns in urban and semi-urban contexts. Notable exceptions are the
work of Sylvia Vatuk in Meerut (1972) and the recent work of Jonathan Parry on
marriage and sex in an industrial environment of the Chhattisgarh region in
Madhya Pradesh (2001). In urbanised (but not metropolitan) centres like Mathura
the breaching of endogamy in the case of inter-subcaste unions has gradually
become more accepted, and in the case of inter-caste and inter-community unions
is considered theoretically possible. My ethnographic material suggests that Sadar
Bazaar’s residents lie ‘in-between’ ethnographies which portray endogamy as the
last bastion of the caste system (Mayer 1996), and others which instead emphasise
its steady decline (Beteille 1996).

Before exploring the case study of the Yadavs I briefly illustrate the
outcomes of a survey which looked at attitudes to marriage amongst the residents
of Sadar Bazaar (Mathura Survey 1999). Table 3.2 summarises the answers to
three separate but interlinked questions. Respondents were asked to express their
opinion about marriage between people of different religion, of different caste and
different subcaste. Table 3.2 shows the percentage who said they were ‘against’
such marriages.

Table 3.2: Disapproval of marriage between different religious communities,

castes and subcastes
Religions Castes Subcastes Number
Brahman 57% 36% 14% 28
Bania 54% 32% 2 1 % 28
Other upper caste 6 8 % 63% 2 1 % 19
Yadav 76% 6 8 % 15% 6 6

Other OBC 70% 60% 50% 1 0

SC 50% 41% 32% 2 2

Muslim 59% 49% 27% 41

Other 80% 70% 30% 1 0

Average 64% 53% 2 2 % 224

Source: Mathura Survey
Notes: Table entries based on full sample (no information was recorded for 1 case)

The results show that marriage between people of different subcastes is highly
tolerated amongst all the communities. Overall, only 22% said they were against
marriages between people of different subcastes. Yadavs were significantly more

160
likely than average to say that they were against inter-caste marriages (6 8 % of
Yadavs compared with 53% average). There is also evidence to suggest, although
not significant at the 0.05 level, that Yadavs are more likely than average to say
they were against inter-religious marriages (76% of Yadavs compared with 64%
average), and less likely than average to say that they were against marriages
between subcastes (15% of Yadavs compared with 22% average).

Such results are consistent with ethnographic and historical data which
show on the one hand the successful diffusion of the ideology of the Yadav caste
association, and on the other a strict concern to conform to caste dharma and to
arrange hypergamous marriage alliances. Before exploring the influence of Yadav
caste association marriage ideologies, and their contribution to the creation of a
united Yadav community, I briefly explore Yadav views about inter-caste
marriages.

Yadavs’ views about inter-caste marriages

Table 3.2 shows that Yadavs were significantly more likely than average to say
they were against inter-caste marriages. In the words of Mr Sharma, a Brahman
resident in Sadar Bazaar, Yadavs and other Backward Classes ‘are today more
orthodox than other castes.. .they are extremely traditional’ (English words). The
adjective ‘orthodox’ here is used with a derogatory connotation, and stands for
‘non-modem’ and ‘backward’. ‘They still live as if they were in a village; Ahir
Para after all is like a village; women have to veil themselves and most of them
are inparda\ they (Yadavs) pay large dowries, their marriage ceremonies are
lavish.. .these are old customs; in our community we are more modernised’
(Lakshmi, 23 years old, student). Lakshmi is a Bania girl and throughout my stay
kept drawing my attention to how ‘underdeveloped’ and ‘backward’ the Yadavs
were compared to her community. She said their religious behaviour and customs
were stricter than in her own caste community and in other high status castes such
as the Brahmans. Yadavs were also considered ‘un-modem’ because of their

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‘violent’ disapproval of inter-caste love affairs and marriages. 9 1 Locally, Yadavs
had such a reputation both because of episodes that occurred in Sadar Bazaar and
because of events that happened in the Uttar Pradesh and Haryana countryside,
which were heavily reported by the local press and TV . 9 2

One of the first stories I was told on my arrival to Sadar Bazaar was the
saga of Arjun (a Saini boy) and Deepa (a Yadav girl). The couple fell in love, and
were discovered to be having an affair. The boy was promptly moved to his
relatives in Aligarh town and a marriage was arranged for the girl in Mainpuri
district. This story provoked a violent response from the local Yadavs who
aggressively attacked Arjun’s family members and his community fellows. This
episode happened five years ago; however still today local Yadav boys pick any
excuse to begin a fight with members of the Saini community. The girl’s family
and the boy’s family refused to talk about the episode. When I asked about details
of the love story between Aijun and Deepa, informants provided different and
contradictory stories. Yet despite the heterogeneity of the accounts, one consistent
comment emerged: the girl was unmarried and the union was hypogamous and
therefore intolerable.

During fieldwork I closely witnessed another love story which also did not
have a happy ending. The story involved Radha, a Rajput girl, and Sudarshan, a
Kumar (potter). Sudarshan comes from a ‘Backward caste’. However, his family
is highly educated and wealthy. Sudarshan’s father studied in the USA and he is
currently in the Civil Service. In 1998, Sudharshan opened a successful computer
shop, one of the first in Mathura town. Radha was employed in the shop as a
secretary. Soon the couple fell in love and they began to think of marriage.
Finally, the day they broke the news to their parents came. Sudarshan’s father was
not happy, but ready to support the marriage. However, within hours of the
announcement Radha was ‘kidnapped’ by her family and kept first in her father’s
village near Jaipur and then in Delhi at her sister’s place. The fact that Sudarshan

91 On love marriages see Osella and Osella (2000a: 107-108) and Mody (2002).
92 For a summary of events reported in the press, see Chowdhry (1997). In September
2001 a movie entitled ‘Hunted Woman’ (Lajja) was released. The movie tells the story of
an old woman belonging to a low caste who was gang-raped by Yadav men in a village in
U.P. in June 1999. She was raped and tortured because her son eloped with a Yadav girl.

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was wealthy, highly educated and was also offered a job to go to the USA did not
count for anything in face of the fact that his caste status was lower than Radha’s.
After twenty days an arranged marriage with a Rajput boy of a highly prestigious
family was arranged and a month later Radha got married. Before the marriage
Sudarshan had a couple of meetings with Radha’s father and attempted to
convince him to let him marry his daughter. Despite his efforts Radha’s father did
not change his mind. He said that he could not accept to give his daughter to a
non-Rajput family. As Sudarshan said to me: ‘Rajputs have a custom, they have
to marry their girls up; for them it is a question of honour’.

Sudarshan’s closest friends, Pramod and Gori, are both Yadavs and reside
in Ahir Para. Unsurprisingly, after Radha’s marriage Sudarshan was completely
destroyed and depressed for months but his Yadav friends were not sympathetic.
They kept on saying how it was a question of honour for a family to marry a girl
up; and how he was lucky that he was still walking on his legs and how this
would not have been the case if he had messed around with a Yadav girl.
Sudarshan was extremely surprised by the reaction of his friends and complained
to me that although they look ‘modem’ and ‘cool’ (English word), at the end of
the day they were extremely conservative and traditional. As an example he told
me that his friend Pramod accepted to marry a woman whom he did not like just
for the sake of the family honour. He recalled the day of the marriage when
Pramod saw his bride for the first time. Pramod was shocked; unfortunately the
girl was not really a beauty and was not educated. His friends encouraged him to
refuse to marry her. Such a situation had precedent and apparently a boy can
refuse to marry a girl on the day of the ceremony. Pramod decided, however, to
go on with it for the sake of the honour of the family.

Sudarshan said that he never fully understood his decision. He said that
the couple have nothing in common; she is an uneducated ‘village’ girl and
Pramod is a city boy. He is educated, speaks English, goes to the local gym and
dresses in modem clothes. Sudarshan also drew to my attention the many violent
cases against inter-caste marriages which involved members of the Yadav caste. I
discussed this issue with Yadav informants and although some were proud of
such reactions, others were extremely embarrassed. They said that these actions

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were uncivilised and mainly took place in the countryside, whereas Yadavs in the
cities were more open-minded.

To prove the open-minded attitudes of their community, they often drew

my attention to the inter-caste marriage between the son of the secretary of the
AIYM and a Kashmiri Brahman lady. The marriage was celebrated in Delhi in
February 1999. It was attended by thousands of guests, including the former Chief
Minister of Uttar Pradesh, Mulayam Singh Yadav, and other important political
figures. The executive committee of the MYS was also invited to the ceremony. I
attended the marriage accompanied by ‘the Mathura delegation*. The groom’s
family is extremely well-off and politically connected. The groom’s father and
uncle run a construction and estate business in Delhi and in the nearby Uttar
Pradesh district of Ghaziabad. The bride belongs to a well-off family as well. She
is a fashion designer and before getting married used to work in Bombay. Her
mother is a powerful businesswoman and runs an architect’s studio in Bombay.

The groom’s father, S.P.S. Yadav, is an active member of the AIYM and
since 1995 is its general secretary. I was surprised to hear that his son was
marrying a Brahman girl and not a Yadav. This was firstly because of the active
role of S.P.S. Yadav in creating and spreading a sense o f ‘Yadav-ness’ throughout
the country and secondly because of the strict religious conduct of the family. Its
members are followers of Gaudiya Sampraday, a Vaishnava sect, and whenever I
spent time with the family I was reminded how important it was for them to
follow the right dharma and how they valued the caste system. Members of the
family regularly went to Vrindavan to visit their pandit and to collect water from
the Yamuna river for home pujas. A week before the marriage the son and father
came to Mathura for one of these visits. I was present when they met their pandit.
The priest mildly expressed his disappointment that it was to be an inter-caste
marriage. However, S.P.S. Yadav underlined how the girl was a Brahman, a high-
caste, and that by marrying a Yadav she was becoming a Yadav as well and that
her sons also would be Yadavs.

Similar comments were made during the marriage banquet. People

expressed their admiration for the wheatish complexion of the bride and her green
eyes. Many drew my attention to how Yadavs were now considered a high caste
and even Brahman families were giving their daughters to them. Back in Ahir

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Para the comments were very similar. Although older people were not so
favourably disposed to the marriage, they underlined the fact that it was
‘arranged’ and that the girl was higher in status; and that importantly now she was
a Yadav and her sons would be Yadavs as well. On the whole, therefore, great
distress was caused by affairs which involved unmarried Yadav girls and lower
status boys. This characteristic is also present in the second-hand accounts taken
from the media or from friends. Unfortunately, I did not record any instances in
which a Yadav boy wanted to marry a girl from a lower caste. When I discussed
such a possibility with informants they expressed outward tolerance, but only if
the girl was not from an untouchable caste.

In Ahir Para, more than the inter-caste marriage of the son of the secretary
of the AIYM, it was another Yadav elite marriage that provoked outraged
comments and distress: this was the marriage of the son of Rao Birendra Singh,
the present heir of the former Rewari royal family. Rao Birendra Singh’s son
married a woman from his mother’s got. I happened to be in Rewari soon after the
marriage in September 1998. Within a month, three Yadav caste/community
meetings were called to express the disapproval of the Yadav community for a
non-exogamous marriage. The meetings were organised by Bijender Singh the
descendant of the cousin of Rao Tula Ram, Rao Gopal Deo. He is an active
member of the Samajwadi Party. The former Rewari royal family is split into two
factions, one led by Rao Birendra Singh and his sons, and the other by Bijender
Singh. These two factions are political rivals. Bijender Singh claims to be the heir
of the Rewari dynasty and accuses Rao Birendra Singh of being an impostor (see
Chapter 5). At the time the contested marriage was celebrated the groom was 45
years old and three times divorced. The bride was 35 years old, had a good
position in the civil service, and belonged to the Kosa clan, one of the royal clans
of the Ahirwal region (see Chapter 2). Those who attended the Yadav caste
meetings contested the amorality of the marriage because it did not follow
exogamous rules. Rao Birendra Singh’s wife belonged to the same clan and
village as her son’s bride. Moreover, the meetings also drew attention to the

93 Similarly, Parry has pointed how in extreme cases of violence directed towards inter­
caste couples, described by Prem Choudhury (1997), the girl appears to have betn
previously unmarried and the union hypogamous (2001: 792).

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amorality of the royal family; divorce cases and alleged liaisons, which involved
various members of the family over the last twenty years, were highly criticised.
As Bijender Singh told me: ‘even in America, which is such an open society,
people are condemning the behaviour of Bill Clinton; we have all the reasons to
express our disregard for such behaviour within our community’ (Bijender Singh,
45 years old, politician).

On my return to Ahir Para I discussed this debate with local Yadavs.

Almost unanimously they supported Bijender Singh’s protest. The breaching of
exogamous rules is not acceptable behaviour. Many people underlined how the
social category of the got has never been so important. Because we live in a world
in which people tend to move more than before, it is difficult to know to whom a
person is closely related. It has become more complicated to cross-check who are
consanguinal kin, and therefore to determine who is marriageable. Such concerns
are also visible in the rhetoric of Yadav caste associations. As mentioned in the
previous section on goty if on the one hand the Yadav caste association promotes
the amalgamation of different Yadav sub-groups, on the other hand exogamous
clans are still considered ‘a heritage’ to be maintained and defended. Generally,
Mathura Yadavs tend to give more importance to exogamic rules as salient
markers of internal boundaries than to endogamy. Even if ‘the four-got rule’ is
not consistently followed and only the father’s got and the mother’s got are
considered, I have not recorded any sagotra (marriage within the got) unions. My
data are therefore not in line with other works which recorded a general loosening
of rigid got exogamy (Vatuk 1972: 94; Mayer 1960: 203). In contrast, the
ethnography of the Yadavs shows a greater expansion of the endogamous
boundaries and a local amalgamation between different subcastes.

Caste associations: encouraging processes of fusion

Since the beginning of the century, the AIYM, through its local associations, has
encouraged intermarriage between different subdivisions. In Yadav caste
meetings and in the Yadav caste literature social and political leaders have
stressed, and still stress, how Ahir, Goalla, Yaduvanshi, Nandavanshi, Ghosi,
Kamaria, and all the different groups encompassed in the Yadav community, are

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basically the same. Different metaphors are used to explain the ancestral unity of
the dispersed and heterogeneous Yadav community. The following passage is an
extract from a popular Yadav booklet:

‘The Ganges is a sacred river of the Hindus. At its source Gangotri it

is called Devnadi or Sursarita. In the plains the same is famous as
Bhagirathi or Ganga Ji and towards the end of its journey while
merging with the Ganga, Saagar.... Despite its various names, the
sacredness of the Ganges remains unaffected. Similarly, its origin
remains unchanged. Likewise, leaving aside the geographical
variance, it makes no difference in the value of the lineage of Yadavas
no matter to which place it belongs or by which name it is called.
Everyone should keep himself away from narrow mindedness with
regard to locality, district, state, branch, lineage, family etc. and
should be broadminded in promoting brotherhood and inter-vansh
relations. And this should lead to unity’ (Yaduvansh, vol. 2, 1996: 41).

This argument is supported by other mythical-historical evidence which portrays

the ancient Yadavs as ‘modem-minded’ and ready to mix and merge with other
people:

‘Their democratic outlook and readiness to mix and merge with other
people enabled them more readily to propagate Aryan culture. They
were prepared to make concessions to other peoples by adopting some
of their ideas or beliefs and even the worship of some of their deities.
In term of adversity these qualities enabled them to preserve their
identity and their social organisation, to recruit their strength by
intake of fresh blood and to prepare to reassert themselves on return
of favourable circumstances’ (Khedkar 1959: XI).

The social system of ancient Yadavas is described as ‘republican’ and based on

equality. ‘They (Yadavas) knew no caste. They consisted of one caste only’ (ibid.
XIV) and:

‘The Yadavs are spoken of disparagingly by the orthodox because

they treated their sons as equal and allowed their women to join them
in eating, drinking, dancing and recreation, and at a later date because
they allowed widows to remarry.. .Not sharing the prejudice of the
orthodox against foreign travel and mixture of blood, the Yadavs were
able to migrate in large number of foreign countries as soldiers,
merchants and missionaries, and assimilating and occasionally being
assimilated to other people’ (ibid.: XV).
‘It is perhaps to this capacity and willingness to recruit their strength
by the assimilation of other people that the survival of the Yadavs
after the fratricidal Yadav war must be largely attributed’ (ibid.: XVI).
The ancient Yadavs are described in the Yadav rhetoric as people ready to
assimilate others and therefore prone to inter-caste marriage. According to the
same rhetoric such mixed unions produce ‘new’ and ‘strong’ blood. As mentioned
before, such ideologies of blood are today found in Yadav descriptions of their
exogamous system and in the importance they attribute to the social category of
the got. Thus, Yadav caste rhetoric attempts to present inter-caste unions as a
historically familiar phenomenon, and at the same time as a ‘valuable’ and
‘modem’ custom. The language of blood and biology is used to prove the benefits
of mixed-blood unions and to encourage contemporary Yadavs to arrange inter­
subcaste marriages.

In 1999, local and regional Yadav caste associations affiliated to the

AIYM organised meetings to celebrate the Platinum Jubilee of the AIYM. The
city, village, bloc and district units of the AIYM celebrated seventy-five years of
activity of the Mahasabha. During these meetings one of the consistent themes in
the speeches of political and social activists was how the Yadavs were, one
hundred years ago, disunited and separated into different castes and subcastes and
how in contrast today they are united (or re-united). The following is an extract
from a speech delivered at a conference in Gurgaon in October 1998 by a Yadav
activist.

‘.. .The new leaders, a product of Indian renaissance, tried to string the
different Yadav subcastes together to enable them to have a common
identity. They told them that no matter whether they were
Nandavanshi or Goallavanshi or anything else, they all belong to one
dynasty the Yadu dynasty. They were all Yadavas, the great Kula
which had the honour of giving Lord Krishna to the world...To
strengthen the all India identity; they advocated inter-subcaste
marriages, inter-dining, large scale get together of Yadavs groups
from different parts of India. They exhorted them to call themselves
Yadavs and have strong beliefs in the oneness of their different
subcastes. They appealed to them to have one Kuladevta, Lord
Krishna and no one else...This has given them self-respect and self-
confidence, which has enabled them to be what they are today.
.. .After few days, the Yadavs will enter a new millennium. They will
need a new agenda for a new age...’ (B.J.Yadav, AIYM regional
meeting, Gurgaon, 28 October 1998).

Yadav social leaders and politicians tend therefore to assume that there are no
distinctions between Yadavs, and at least in theory every Yadav can marry any
other Yadav in the country. Now, the new challenge of the caste associations is to

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encourage ‘inter-state marriages’ and in particular marriages between North and
South Yadavs. Since inter-subcaste marriages at regional level are nowadays
considered very popular and no social stigma is attached to them, the Mahasabha
is now concentrating its efforts on popularising ‘inter-state’ marriages which
instead are still a minority. The constitution of the Mahasabha, which was revised
in 1995, explicitly underlines this agenda. It is stated that one of the aims of the
association is ‘to improve social affinity in the community by encouraging inter­
state marriages and to arrange mass marriages’ (AIYM 1995: 5). In an interview
with the present President of the AIYM, I was told that the big challenge of the
new millennium is to unite the Yadavs from the South with those from the North.
He confidently said that in the next twenty years the Mahasabha would achieve
this goal. In addition, he proudly told me about the rising number of inter-state
marriages. I recorded a large number of such marriages amongst Yadavs living in
metropolitan Delhi. In Mathura city I was aware of six marriages which had taken
place in the last ten years involving Yadav men from Mathura and Yadav women
from Bihar and Madhya Pradesh. These marriages were arranged through contacts
developed by Yadav caste association meetings.

The rise in the number of inter-state marriages has also been accompanied
by a rise in the number of inter-vansh marriages. When asked about inter-vansh
marriages amongst Mathura Yadavs, informants often say that these unions only
began to be arranged in the early 1980s, and they generally attribute this change
in marriage patterns to the activities of the Sabhas. The following is one of fifteen
resolutions approved during the AIYM convention held in Mathura in December
1981.

‘Lord Krishna had organised the caste-system on the basis of their

qualities and profession. This Mahasabha calls upon all those
communities who possess Yadav qualities and professions...to unite
and encourages marriage alliances between them to become one’
(resolution 12; AIYM Convention Mathura, December 1981; see
Yadav Sansar, January 1981: 25 - Originally in English).

Previous sections described the social categories of the Nandavanshi,

Goallavanshi, Yaduvanshi and Krishnavanshi. I illustrated how their boundaries
have been historically ill defined, and how in the last twenty years they have
become even fuzzier. There have been evident changes in the way local Yadavs

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define themselves. The emergence of the category of Krishnavanshi and the
growth of inter-vansh marriages and inter-state marriages indicate the successful
impact of the work of the Mahasabha. Such ideology has succeeded in eliminating
smaller subdivisions such as the Ghosi and Kamaria subgroups and it is in the
process of eliminating larger subdivisions such as the Nandavanshi, Goallavanshi
and Yaduvanshi. This ‘modem’ trend has a double manifestation. On the one
hand we observe inter-vansh marriages which follow the traditional path of
hypergamy, and on the other we observe inter-state marriages or political
marriages which are ideally free from status concerns.

Inter-va/is/f marriages and hypergamy

Although, mtex-vansh marriage alliances are still a minority amongst the Mathura
Yadav community, they are not a taboo and are theoretically and empirically
accepted. As previously described, to each Yadav subdivision corresponds a
territorial area in which women are exchanged. Amongst the three subdivisions
the Nandavanshi-Yadavs are the ones who in recent years have most rapidly
expanded their territorial-marriage limits and consequently their endogamous
boundaries. Traditionally they tended to send daughters to, and receive them
from, the districts of Etah, Jaleshar, Mainpuri, Farrukhabad and Aligarh. Now
they also send their daughters to Kanpur and to eastern U.P. In the past these
areas were considered off limits because they were inhabited by inferior status
Yadavs. As explored above, economic and political improvements have had a
bearing on eastern Uttar Pradesh Yadavs. They are now considered prestigious
enough to receive Mathura girls. In addition, Ahir Para Yadavs today accept
daughters from Anta Para and Sathgara Yadavs. Until fifteen years ago, Ahir Para
Yadavs did not accept marriages within Mathura town. They gave their urban-
bred girls to the villages and brought village girls to the town. Rao recorded the
same pattern amongst the Ahir/Yadavs of two Delhi mohallas (1979: 196-197).

The intra-town Yadav marriages are thus to be considered a new trend.

Such exchanges follow a precise pattern and involve exchanges between Ahir
Para and Sathgara on the one hand, and Sathgara and Anta Para on the other. I

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have not recorded marriage alliances between Ahir Para and Anta Para. Ahir Para
Yadavs view their marriage alliances with Sathgara as a symbol of their status
superiority. All the mXQX-vansh marriage alliances within Mathura city imply
hypergamous relations: Ahir Para Nandavanshi-Yadavs accept girls from the
Sathgara Goallavanshi-Yadav families but do not give them their daughters. The
whole process can be also understood as one of ‘inclusion’ and ‘exclusion’
(Pocock 1957: 28). The Goallavanshi girl’s family attempts to include itself with
the higher ranking Nandavanshi-Yaduvanshi groom’s family (vansh), and at the
same time attempts to exclude itself from its own sub-group, considering its
members to be of low status. I recorded similar patterns in a number of villages
near Gurgaon, where girls from wealthy Uttar Pradesh Goallavanshi-Yadav
families were married into Haryana Yaduvanshi-Yadav families. Yadavs from the
Benares region told me that this was also the case in their area. Even if a regional
study is needed to assess this pattern more carefully, my data clearly highlight a
hypergamous preferential pattern amongst regional inter-vansh caste alliances
which places the Goallavanshi as the inferiors of the Yaduvanshi and
Nandavanshi.

So on the one hand, Mathura Yadavs told me that such marriages are the
outcome of the activities of the local Yadav associations; on the other these
unions followed a traditional hypergamous model. This made me suspect that
Yadav caste ideology was at times used as a pretext to legitimise what it is indeed
an old phenomenon. As mentioned before, hypergamy can lead to a shortage of
marriageable women for men at the lower rungs of the caste hierarchy and this
promotes the absorption of lower-status groups into the higher caste through
marriage. In the case of the Yadavs, hypergamy is not just confined to the upper
levels of the caste but it is also common amongst lower-ranking Yadavs. On the
whole, status hypergamy is said to lead ‘inevitably to an imbalance in the
numbers of available potential spouses’ (Billing 1991: 350). Hypergamous
systems can not function in a totally closed subdivision structure because there
would be no wives at all for the men at the bottom of the internal subdivision
hierarchy; similarly the women at the top would have no husbands (Clark 1989).

Other modem ‘factors’ contribute to the difficulty of the search for

suitable grooms and brides. It appears that nowadays it has become increasingly

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difficult to find educated grooms and brides who meet the expectations of both
the families (Vatuk 1972). In Ahir Para I recorded another visible trend, namely
that individual choices during the process of marriage arrangements were taken
much more into consideration than in the past. Such attention to individual
preferences is bound to render the search for brides and grooms more difficult.
Ahir Para boys tend to prefer to have a wife who is already adjusted to urban
living. Similarly, the girls who married in Ahir Para often said that they only
agreed to the marriage because they wanted to move into an urban area and not
stay in a village. Many Ahir Para boys of marriageable age dread the possibility
that their parents could arrange a marriage for them with an uneducated village
girl. All these trends may have contributed to the inter-vansh marriage alliances
within Mathura town that have occurred in the last fifteen years.

More specifically, I recorded fourteen marriage alliances between Ahir

Para and Sathgara. The patterns of these alliances were structurally homologous.
Ahir Para Yadavs are the wife-takers and Sathgara Yadavs the wife-givers.
Moreover, such unions involved, on the one hand, Nandavanshi families who
were not wealthy, and were therefore at the bottom of local Yadav hierarchy, and
on the other hand extremely well-off and well-connected Goallavanshi families.
To illustrate this pattern I use the case study of the marriage between Gopi Yadav
(a Goallavanshi-Yadav girl) and Rakesh Yadav (a Nandavanshi-Yadav boy).

Gopi Yadav is from the neighbourhood of Sathgara. Her husband and

father-in-law told me that she originally belonged to the Goallavanshi
subdivision, although when I asked her to which vansh her family belonged she
promptly answered that she was a Krishnavanshi. Her father, who is now dead,
was in the dairy business. She had three brothers. Two have married with
Goallavanshi girls from Agra city and one is unmarried. Her two sisters are
married; one in Mathura and one in Delhi. The one in Delhi is married to a
Nandavanshi-Yadav. Her brothers and brothers-in-law are all involved in the
dairy business. Gopi Yadav said that until twenty years ago Sathgara Yadavs
tended to give their daughter to families in the old part of Mathura city. The
marriage arrangements were usually carried out by the women and not as in Anta
Para and Ahir Para, by men. Things are now changing, and wealthy families tend

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to give and take their daughters outside Mathura town. Many other informants in
Sathgara were of the same opinion.

Rakesh Yadav belongs to the Phatak clan. He is a lower rank civil servant
and works in the Mathura telephone exchange unit. His father, B. Yadav, has a
grocery shop in Sadar Bazaar and he is an active local leader of the BJP. In 1989,
he contested the municipality elections for the Cantonment Board but he lost
against the candidate of the ‘Netaji Parivar’. As I mentioned before, the Phatak
clan is locally considered to be highly prestigious. Its members are locally
involved in the running of the akhara and in the organisation of the Krishna Lila
and Ram Lilas. Local members of the Phatak clan do not belong to the same
lineage as theirparivars migrated to Mathura at different times and from different
localities. B. Yadav moved to Mathura with his family in the 1950s when he was
still a child. His father used to be a farmer in the nearby district of Etah. B. Yadav
has three other sons. One is in the police service, one is in the dairy business and
the third is completing an MSc at K.R. College in Mathura and is not married yet.

B. Yadav told me that Gopi’s family approached him and he thought that
she would be a suitable match for Rakesh. The fact that she was a Goallavanshi
was not of any importance for him: ‘all the Yadavs are equal’, he said. However,
when asked if he would give a daughter to a Goallavanshi family his answer was
firmly negative: ‘we never give daughters to places from which we take
daughters’. I asked him if anyone in Ahir Para had refused to come to the
marriage because they did not tolerate inter-subcaste marriages. He mentioned
only one person, who is now dead. Other than that, he said, nobody opposed. The
important thing, he added, is that the boy comes from a good family.

Inter-state marriages, mass marriages and anti-dowry campaigns

So far I have explored inter-vansh caste marriages which occurred locally. Such
alliances allow both the parties involved in the marriage to cross-check each
others’ status, customs and habits. Moreover, members of different vansh who
live in the same city are usually more likely to follow similar customs and a
similar way of life (rahan-sahan). These inter-vansh marriages, even if they

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cross-cut vansh endogamous boundaries, do not cross-cut territorial boundaries,
thereby ensuring that there is little or no cultural difference between the partners.
In her study on kinship in Meerut Vatuk points out how arranged marriages which
cross-cut both endogamous and regional boundaries seldom occur (1972: 92). As
a matter of fact the new challenge of the local caste associations is precisely the
promotion of inter-state marriages. This project is supported by complementary
social campaigns which indirectly attack hypergamy and with it the reproduction
of Yadav internal status differences. More specifically, in recent years Yadav
social activists have been promoting a capillary anti-dowry and anti-child-
marriage campaign. By the same token, lavish marriage celebrations are strongly
discouraged and the concept of mass (group) marriage popularised. The following
are a number of resolutions approved at different meetings in the last fifteen
years:

‘All resolutions taken in the past to check the dowry system in its ugly
forms have failed to arrest it. This is most unfortunate. This
Mahasabha is not of the view that unless the youth forces that the
revolutionary lead, it cannot be checked. Remedy is the arrangement
of congregational marriages on the occasion of Mahasabha sessions.
Resolved that a Committee of the following persons to suggest ways
and means within four months be formed. It further resolves that the
delegates present should take a view not to take dowry on marriage of
their children’ (Resolution 6 , AIYM Convention, Mathura 1981,
Originally in English).

This Mahasabha appeals to the Yadav youth to oppose dowry. Group marriages
should be encouraged (Uttar Pradesh Yadav Mahasabha resolutions, Kanpur
1990).

Similarly, at the last general convention of the AIYM in Delhi (1999) Har
Mohan Singh Yadav, in his opening speech said:

‘Brothers and sisters, on this auspicious occasion, I appeal to you, I

humbly request you: bad traditions like dowry, illiteracy, child
marriage, consuming liquor, blind faith in old traditions etc. create
disharmony in the conjugal familiar atmosphere and thereby the
people in general and Yadavs in particular have become backward
day by day...’...‘the lavish expenditure on marriage ceremonies
should be curtailed.. .Dowry system which is a great evil in our
society should be discouraged...Marriage between Yadavs of
different states should be arranged’ (Har Mohan Singh Yadav, AIYM,
Convention, Vaishali-Delhi, 25 December 1999).

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Hypergamous marriages are not cheap. The amount of dowry given by the bride’s
family is associated with the status of the groom, his family and his lineage.
During caste association meetings Yadav activists strongly criticise the way
money is spent on dowries and marriage celebrations; they cite examples of
members of the community who indebt themselves for life in order to marry their
daughters into a good family. In particular, the amount of money spent on
marriage compared to the amount spent on education is often pointed out.

The following is a poem recited by a Yadav girl in a Yadav caste meeting

in Agra in February 1998:

‘Dear father you are getting exploited; what kind of marriage is this;
Should I call it a marriage function or should I call it burden; You and
my brother are getting weaker and weaker day by day; I do not want a
father-in-law who is greedy for money; I need a husband who is rich
in the heart and has love for others; If the community does not listen
to your voice; Then let me be un-married; But my grief will curse the
world and all the community will be hurt...’(Sunita Yadav, MYS
meeting, Agra, 28 February 1998).

Little girls often recite these kinds of poems at Yadav caste meetings. Moreover,
in each local Yadav newsletter there is a section dedicated to the problems of
dowry. A way of combating this ‘social evil’, which mainly hits non-wealthy
Yadavs, is the concept of mass (group) marriages. This type of marriage is
organised by the local marriage bureau. It is precisely on these issues that local
level social leaders mostly work.

The Yadav Mandaliya Sammelan was established in Agra in November

1990. The Marriage Bureau affiliated to the association attempts to link the
Yadavs of the Mathura-Agra area with the Yadavs of eastern U.P. and also of
Bihar and Madhya Pradesh. Similarly, the first meeting of the Rashtriya Yadav
Mana Seva Sangh in Vrindavan was held in September 1999. In the meeting
discussion focused on the eradication of dowry and the establishment of a
marriage bureau. Marriage forms were distributed to the audience with the aim of
collecting a database of potential brides and grooms eager to have a non-dowry
inter-state marriage. In Mathura, Yadav marriage bureaus are very recent
phenomena and it is, therefore, difficult to assess their performance and
popularity. However, the activity of caste associations in the sphere of marriage
has had a visible impact. I recorded six so-called inter-state marriages which were

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all arranged through the caste association network. However, in order to draw
larger conclusions there is a need for a study of regional marriage patterns.

Conclusion

This chapter has had a number of objectives. The first was to provide an empirical
description of Yadav subdivisions, and the importance of the logic of descent in
the construction of the Yadav community. I have attempted to link present
ethnographic data with the ethno-historical data presented in Chapter 2,
illustrating changes and continuities in the internal dimensions of the Ahir/Yadav
caste/community. I have shown how Mathura Yadavs still draw internal
boundaries within their community through the language of locality, ideologies of
blood, concepts of purity and pollution and wealth and power. By the same token,
I have documented how an increasing number of Yadavs view themselves as
members of a large kin-community (Kolenda 1978), which recognises common
descent from the god Krishna. This widely shared belief works against the
internal status and cultural subdivisions which were already historically ill
defined.

The importance of the idiom of kinship in relation to the idiom of purity-

pollution in Ahir/Yadav understandings of their community has gained extra­
force in recent times. Contemporary ethnography (Kolenda 1978; Searle-Chatteijee
and Sharma 1994; Beteille 1996; Mayer 1996) shows that caste in its ’traditional’
definition, i.e. as a hierarchical system governed by rules of purity and pollution
legitimated by the Brahmanical ideology, is perceived in the political and public
domain as an illegitimate institution and is therefore denied. However, whenever the
institution of caste is not disapproved of, it is usually perceived in terms of cultural
distinctiveness rather than in terms of ritual purity. Since in the public and political
arena caste can no longer be described as unequal, it is described as different (Fuller
1996: 12-13). This shift is reflected by the substitution of the term jati, which refers
to caste, with the term samaj, which refers to community (Mayer 1996: 59).

In the light of these ethnographies, the caste system, defined by vertical

hierarchical relationships, is said to have changed its nature. As a result, castes are

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increasingly becoming ‘horizontal’, disconnected ‘ethnic’ groups with their own
distinct culture and way of life (Searle-Chatteijee and Sharma 1994:19-20; see also
Srinivas 1966: 114; Dumont 1970: 227). There has been a shift from an organic to a
segmentary organisation (Bailey 1963b: 123) and from ‘a structure to the
juxtaposition of substance’ (Dumont 1970: 227).

The ethnography and historiography of Ahir/Yadavs of the Braj-Ahirwal

area shows how it is highly reductive to conceptualise ‘traditional’ and
‘substantialised’ or ‘modem’ forms of caste consciousness in opposition and in
contradiction to each other (see S. Bayly 1999: 365-382). Equally, it is problematic
to use terms such as ‘modem’ and ‘traditional’ to differentiate different types of
caste systems (i.e. vertical versus horizontal, and organic versus
separation/competition). Amongst the Ahir/Yadavs, ‘substantialised’
manifestations of caste are not a recent phenomenon. The concept of vansh, which
incorporates allied pastoral and warrior castes which claim descent from Krishna,
has its roots in pre-colonial times.

The aggregative strategies, and extreme intra-caste differentiation of the

Ahirs, shows how phenomena that are often considered to be linked to ‘modem’
processes of substantialisation (Fuller 1996: 13), were ‘traditionally’ familiar to
the Ahir caste-cluster. The Ahir/Yadav ‘caste cluster’ historically had a marked
tribal character. Its internal organisation was informed by kinship and symbolic
descent rather than by ritual purity. The Ahirs have historically shared a common
past, myth of origin, military culture and marriage alliances with other related castes
like Rajputs, Gujars and Jats. Hence, historically ‘the community’ aspect of the caste
diluted internal differentiations marked by the ideology of religious hierarchy. In a
hierarchical and holistic caste system, castes tend to fission. In contrast, in a non-
cooperative caste system the opposite happens: castes tended to fuse (Beteille
1969: 151; Kolenda 1978). The fact that the Ahirs traditionally tended to fuse
rather than split suggests that the concept of ‘substantial solidarity’ was not an
entirely alien concept to them.

In contemporary Mathura, the horizontal social organisation of Yadavs,

and related practices of hypergamy, still inform and facilitate processes of fusion
among local Yadav subdivisions. Evidently, the decline of the purity-pollution
principle in defining internal subdivisions has contributed to reinforcing Yadavs’

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descent-centred set of kinship values and processes of amalgamation. At an ideal
level, today’s Mathura Yadavs appear to be a relatively homogeneous status
group from the outside. The hierarchical principle of purity and pollution does not
substantially permeate the internal organisation of the caste community.

However, this quasi-ethnic understanding of caste coexists with a lively

insistence on the maintenance of the pollution barrier between the Yadavs and the
‘unclean castes’ (e.g. former untouchables). Thus, being a Yadav is not only
determined by birth and by an inherited immutable substance (Barnett 1977); but
to a certain extent still depends on what the members of the community do or fail
to do towards the preservation of personal or collective purity (see S. Bayly 1999:
310-311). The following chapter explores the religious aspects of local Yadav
processes of fusion.

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 Chapter 4
From lineage deity to caste/community deity: gods
are ancestors and ancestors can become gods

Introduction

This chapter explores the religious dimensions of the Yadav folk theory of
descent. Since the themes discussed in this chapter are part of a cumulative
argument, it is worth summarising a number of issues previously discussed. The
ethno-historical exploration of Ahir/Yadav kinship organisation in the Braj-
Ahirwal area, and its ethnographic analysis in contemporary Mathura town, sheds
light on the ways in which the Ahir-Yadav cluster organisation and lineage view
of caste facilitated the transformation of different Ahir subdivisions into the
‘modem’ Yadav community. A strong ideological model of descent was at the
basis of the internal structure of the Ahir caste. At the core of the formation of the
Yadav community lies a tendency to ‘emulate’ and ‘duplicate’, at the regional and
national levels, the ideology of descent which legitimises local lineages (Fox
1971: 23). Being ‘Yadav’ is, therefore, locally understood both in terms of close
agnatic relations and in terms of ‘symbolic’ regional and national agnatic
relations.

The previous chapter illustrated the implications of this process at the

empirical level. The emergence of the new encompassing Krishnavanshi kinship
category is an evident outcome of the spread and manipulation of such ideology.
Being Krishnavanshi-Yadav means to descend from Krishna. No occupation or
titles are specifically connected with this new social categorisation. This was not
the case for the Yaduvanshi, Nandavanshi and Goallavanshi categories. The new
Krishnavanshi social category is not connected with a specific territory either; its
territorial inclusiveness comprises the whole of India. These extended territorial
boundaries correspond to equally extended endogamous boundaries. Hence, the

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entire Yadav caste community is, in principle, a single large endogamous group
whose tutelary lineage-community deity is the god Krishna.

This chapter explores how amongst Mathura Yadavs the cult of local
lineage deities has been gradually substituted by the cult of the god Krishna, and
how such a process is accompanied by the adoption of Sanskritic forms of
Hinduism. At the beginning of the twentieth century, the AIYM’s ideologues
began to push the issue of socio-religious reform (see Chapter 2). The outcome of
such reformist campaigns is at the base of contemporary statements like: ‘we
(Yadavs) are Kshatriyas but we behave like Vaishyas’. Such an assertion is
related to the type of Hinduism Mathura Yadavs practise. In the last fifty years,
there has been a change in terms of who ordinary local Yadavs worship, how they
worship and who they believe to be their direct ancestors/protectors. More
specifically, in the last three generations there has been an evident shift from the
cult of ‘meat-eating’ deities to ‘vegetarian’ deities and from lineage deities to
caste/community deities. 9 4 For instance, the worship of local ‘male’ lineage
deities (,kuldevtas), such as Mekhasur, has been gradually substituted with the cult
of Krishna. By the same token, the local ‘female’ kul deities {kuldevis) have been
tamed and transmuted into vegetarian vaishno devis, whose foundation myths are
now solidly linked with the mythology of Krishna and his companion Radha. The
purification of local lineage deities is accompanied by a strengthening of the
pollution barrier which separates clean castes from unclean (i.e. untouchable)
castes.

This chapter explores these entangled phenomena, and in particular

focuses on the cult of the kuldevtas. I believe that the study of Yadav kuldevta
cults, which incorporate dimensions found in hero cults, possession cults, and
bhakti cults, as well as cults o f ‘great’ gods, simultaneously highlights tensions
within contemporary Hinduism and changes that have occurred in the internal
organisation of the Yadav caste/community. Harlan (1992: 12) correctly points to
the potential insights that studies on lineage deities can provide to the
understanding of kinship and caste, and to the relation between the caste system

94 Here for ‘meat-eating’ deity I mean deities who demand blood sacrifice (cf. Fuller,
1992).

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and Hindu ideology. Unfortunately, this is an area of study still under­
investigated. The literature on lineage-god/goddess cults amongst middle-low
castes is not extensive. Since kul deity cults are viewed as a ‘primary emblem of
Rajput identity’ (Harlan 1992: 10) and royalty, they have been primarily explored
in relation to Rajputs. In particular, it is the literature on ‘male’ kul deities that is
most scanty. Since Rajputs do not worship ‘male’ lineage deities, the latter are not
included in available literature on Rajput religion. Male lineage deities are found
mainly among pastoral castes and, as others have already pointed out, there are
very few detailed studies of religion as practised by pastoral, nomadic and semi-
nomadic communities (Srivastava 1997: 46).

This chapter is divided into two broad sections. The first section outlines
the debate about the internal stratification of Hinduism and its relation to Indian
society. It examines how a caste-based hierarchical social structure is connected
with indigenous notions of religious stratification and how reformist processes
have influenced both social and religious domains. The second section explores
the ethnography of a number of lineage deity cults, their recent transformations
and relationship to the formation of the modem Yadav community. In the light of
this ethnographic material which shows how Yadav horizontal alliances still
belong to the realm of ritual/religious space, it is concluded that new
substantialised modem castes are still permeated by a religious caste ethos.

Reformist religious processes: becoming ‘Kshatriyas who

behave like Vaishyas’

Superior and inferior forms of Hinduism: the issue of sacrifice

The adoption by lower castes of goddesses defined as kuldevis has often been
described as an imitation of Rajput customs, and thus as an ongoing process of
Sanskritisation/Rajputisation. For instance, Pocock (1973) illustrates how the
Patidars of Gujarat lay claims to have lineage goddesses for the sake of their own
prestige. Pocock underlines how kuldevi worship is generally conceived as an

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institution encountered exclusively among the Rajputs and not among Shudra
castes (1973: 67).

However, Mathura Yadavs’ claims to possess lineage deities should not be

interpreted as an explicit expression of an ongoing process of Rajputisation.
Informants never explicitly attached any form of prestige to their claim of having
a kuldevi or kuldevta. As a matter of fact, prestige was instead linked to their
claims of worshipping vegetarian goddesses and gods, who were closely
associated with the mythology of Krishna: the Yadav tutelary caste deity par
excellence, 9 5 In order to understand such claims, this section shows how Mathura
Yadavs have been reforming themselves by adopting socio-religious practices
associated with high forms of Hinduism.

To begin with I introduce what has been a central debate within studies of
Hinduism, namely the issue of its internal stratification and its relation with
Indian society. The Hindu world is populated by an uncountable number of
deities. A number of them are worshipped throughout the subcontinent and their
attributes are celebrated in well-known texts (‘great deities’). Others, instead, are
regional and parochial figures and their worship is specifically local (Tittle
deities’). The lineage goddesses and gods discussed in this chapter belong to the
latter category. As mentioned, they can be male and female and they can have
non-divine origin. They are periodically worshipped by all members of a clan or
caste, and their function is to protect the members of particular kin groups. They
are usually meat-eaters and are said to like and to need blood in order to be
effective. Conversely, ‘great deities’ such as Krishna are viewed as immortal,
fully divine and strictly vegetarian. In short, lineage deities are parochial in nature
and usually demand animal sacrifice to be effective. In contrast, all-India
Sanskritic deities are strictly vegetarian and they do not demand animal sacrifice.
This distinction is crucial to understand the phenomena I describe in this chapter.

In the early 1950s Srinivas (1965) elaborated the concept of ‘Sanskritic

Hinduism’, which he opposed to popular, local, parochial and folk Hinduism. 9 6

95Here for vegetarian deities, I mean deities who do not accept animal sacrifice.
96 The main characteristics were the worship of great deities such as Vishnu, Shiva and
Devi; the importance of pilgrimage centres; of the two classical epics: the Ramayana and

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By elaborating the concept of ‘great traditions’ opposed to ‘little traditions’,
Singer (1972) emphasised the differences between the classical, philosophical and
text-based aspects of religion and the popular ‘folk’ religious practices. Although
contemporary anthropological studies on Hinduism have come to the conclusion
that at the empirical level it is impossible to make a distinction between ‘inferior’
and ‘superior’ forms of Hinduism (Babb 1975; Fuller 1979,1988); they have also
acknowledged that at the ideological level the concepts of Sanskritic and non-
Sanskritic Hinduism, and o f ‘great’ and ‘little’ traditions, capture ‘an indigenous
frame of reference’ (Fuller 1992: 27).

In plenty of instances local people in Mathura and in Braj distinguished

between superior forms of Hinduism and inferior ones. The following
ethnographic description illustrates this point. On one of my first visits to an
Ahir/Yadav village near Rewari, one hundred kilometres from Mathura town, the
village head, when asked about the religious life in the village, answered by
saying that the Ahir/Yadavs were not ‘religious’ (English word): ‘we do not have
temples (<mandir) and priests (Brahmans) for our worship; if you wish to study
‘religion’, you should go to Mathura, where there are many Brahmans and
Banias’ (Bola Yadav, 70 years old, teacher). In reality, during my stay in the
village I witnessed many ‘religious’ activities, which as my informant correctly
said, did not need the service of the Brahmans. These rituals were conducted in
vernacular and not Sanskritic language and the offerings to the deities were
vegetarian as well as non-vegetarian. It soon became evident that by evaluating
Mathura as a ‘superior’ Brahman and Vaishya stronghold, the headman was
pointing at the separation between the local ‘inferior’ worship of Tittle deities’
and the worship of the so-called Sanskritic ones. 9 7

the Mahabharata; the holiness of the cow; beliefs in concepts such as karma and dharma
and the prominent role of the Brahmans. The concept was paired with the concept of
Sanskritisation.

97 Datta (1999), in her work on the Jats of southeast Punjab, which as a caste traditionally
share many of the customs and much of the religious culture of the Ahirs/Yadavs and
Gujars, describes the pre-colonial and early colonial religious world of the pastoral castes
of the area. With the term ‘Kaccha tradition’ opposed to ‘Pucca tradition’ local people
made a distinction between a non-brahmanical religious form and a ‘brahmanical one’.
‘The Kaccha tradition... often conflicted with the brahmanical moral codes and precepts...

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 The headman of the village, therefore, expressed how the concept of
‘Sanskritic Hinduism’ has an evaluative significance in the lives of ordinary
people. As Fuller suggests ‘by reference to it higher-status groups tend to regard
their own beliefs and practices as superior to those assumed to belong to lower-
status groups’ (1992: 27), and, by the same token, lower status groups evaluate
their beliefs and practices in relation to it. The origin of this widespread discourse
is not recent and goes in tandem with the assumption that Brahmanical Hinduism
is the ‘real’ and most ‘pure’ form of Hinduism. In short, this model is empirically
identified with vegetarianism, non-violence and ascetism (ibid.). Vegetarianism is
usually considered as the dietary rule of the higher castes. ‘Non-violence’ and
‘vegetarianism’ are taken as indices of purity and superior status. Conversely,
violence (including sacrifice) and meat-eating tend to be associated with impurity
and low status. Sacrifice is evaluated as a low ritual that does not belong to
Brahmanical Hinduism. ‘Animal sacrifice, in short, is ideologically devalued in
relation to vegetarian worship’ (ibid.: 8 8 ). In a sacred and orthodox town such as
Mathura, these trends are present in people’s everyday lives. They have in fact
been reinforced by centuries of strictly vegetarian Vaishnava devotional
movements and in more recent times by Hindu reformist movements such as the
Arya Samaj.

The Vaishnava religious tradition vigorously opposes animal sacrifice and

the consumption of meat and alcohol. Vaudeville (1996: 65) has pointed out how
the autochthonous pastoral castes of Braj have gradually associated their goddess
cults, which demanded bloody rites, with Bhakti cults of Krishna and Vaishnava
practices. In this process, goddesses gradually gave up meat and became
vegetarian. In the region of Mathura, family deities have been ‘tamed’ over the
centuries by Vaishnava reformers who abhorred the animal sacrifice associated
with their cults. The term ‘Vaishnava’ is also locally understood as synonymous
with vegetarianism (Babb 1999: 157).

avoiding the symbols of orthodox Hinduism- pucca mazhab- they (the Jats) took pride in
describing their own practices as kaccha mazhab (ibid.: 25).

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 Local Ahir-Yadavs are followers of devotional sects like the Gaudiya
Sampraday, Pusthi Marg and Ramandandi Sampraday. However, the emphasis
on vegetarianism is not only a Vaishnava phenomena. Mathura Yadavs have also
been greatly influenced by the vegetarian and non-sacrifice ethos of the Arya
Samaj. In Chapter 2 1 highlighted how the socio-religious movement of the Arya
Samaj intertwined with the reformist character of the Yadav caste associations.
Even today, old Yadav informants often pointed out that ‘the Aryas' demanded
that they abandon animal sacrifice. In a number of instances when I asked
informants if they performed bali, I was given the answer, ‘no I am an Arya'. By
this, informants did not mean that they had been converted to the Arya Samaj, but
just that they followed the Arya Samaj rules about animal sacrifice and
vegetarianism. Thus, Yadav informants explicitly acknowledged the influence of
the Arya Samaj. Notwithstanding this, they also explicitly said that they had never
abandoned the cult of their deities as the Arya Samaj asked. Being ‘Arya’,
therefore, meant locally to be reformed and paradoxically to adhere to a
Brahmanical form of Hinduism.

In many respects the forms of Brahmanical Hinduism to which

Ahir/Yadavs in Mathura adhere have been recently sponsored by the agenda of
the Sangh Parivar. Hinduism is conceptualised by Hindu nationalists as a
homogenous and uniform religion encoded in texts. Sacrifice is usually strongly
condemned and vegetarianism is highly valued. At the core of the Hindu
nationalist pantheon are superior and Sanskritic vegetarian deities. Being a site of
Hindu nationalist propaganda, Mathura has been highly influenced by such
ideologies.

Thanks to the combination of many concomitant factors (Yadav caste

associations’ reforms, devotionalism and Hindu reformist movements) over the
last fifty years the Yadavs of Mathura have become vegetarian. In addition, they
gave up the cult of ‘meat-eating’ gods and goddesses, or transmuted their deities
into vegetarian ones. In doing this, they transformed them into ‘proper’ ancestors:
vegetarians like their worshippers (and descendants). Sacrifice has been almost
entirely abandoned by the last three generations and it is conceived as a Tow’
ritual: a ritual that ‘backward castes’ perform. Most of my informants were almost
scandalised when I asked if they used to perform animal sacrifice. Their reaction

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was one of incredulous shock. They could not imagine how I dared to ask this
kind of question: ‘the Yadavs are a bare jati. If you wish to witness a sacrifice’,
they told me innumerable times, ‘go to the Jatav (untouchable) neighbourhood’
QO

(Phoolan Devi, 35 years old, housewife).

The majority of the Yadavs of Ahir Para are strictly vegetarian. I did come
across young men who secretly ate meat and drank alcohol. Such occasions are
mainly provided by ‘chicken-whisky’ picnics on the banks of the Yamuna river.
These ‘parties’ were organised by young male Yadavs who were mostly attracted
by the transgressive nature of such events. Despite these exceptions, I can safely
say that reformist attitudes and behaviour are spread uniformly throughout the
Yadav community.

The reinforcement of the purity-pollution barrier: a ‘religious’

and ‘political’ issue

In Sadar Bazaar, the pollution barrier between clean caste communities and
unclean castes is a lively social reality. For a start, Ahir Para Yadavs do not allow
‘Jatavs* (the Sanskritised name for the local Chamars, traditionally leather-
workers) and Valmiki (Bhangi, sweepers) to enter into their temples. Informants
explicitly say that low-caste people are not allowed to enter their places of
worship. As a matter of fact, I never met a low caste person at the Mahadev Ghat
temple. In addition, I witnessed a couple of episodes in which young Jatavs were
chased away by the temple caretakers because they passed too close to the
Mahadev Ghat. The kitchen is another space which cannot be violated by a lower
caste. Yadav women consistently told me that the worst violation of their sacred
kitchen would be the presence of a SC or a Muslim. They could tolerate other
‘presences’ (like mine...) but even the more broad-minded could not conceive of

98 Old Yadavs described to me the sacrificial ritual they had seen in the past. They told
me how usually a he-goat (sometimes a chicken) was decapitated during the festival
naurata (nine nights). In their descriptions, emphasis was always placed on the sacrificial
meal, the prasada, which was cooked at the site of the sacrifice and distributed to the
people present.

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having a low caste person in their own kitchen. Jatavs cannot sit in the presence
of Yadav men as a sign of respect. And this even if a significant number of Jatavs
in the neighbourhood are in government positions and quite wealthy and
politically assertive.

A number of hierarchical transactional relations still exist between local

Yadavs and low castes. More specifically, the dead cows and buffaloes of Yadavs
are removed by the members of two Jatav households, who provide their service
to the members of the Chaudhri and Dudh Parivars. Bola Kumar has been serving
the Chaudhri Parivar for the past fifteen years, and before him his father,
grandfather and uncles all worked for Yadav families. For his services, Bola
Kumar receives cash and dairy products. In addition, due to his special patron-
client relation with the Chaudhri Parivar, when he is in need he is allowed loans at
a ‘special’ interest rate. B.S. Yadav, the leader of the Chaudhri Parivar, often said
that his family does not trust the municipality sweepers and carcass removers. He
said that they (the municipality sweepers) sell the dead animals to the
Kasai/Qureshi (butchers) who then either eat the meat or sell the skin. By
contrast, Bola Kumar buries the dead cows on the banks of the Yamuna river.
Moreover, when he does it he is careful not to be seen by other people, who may
want to exhume the corpse and sell it. B.S. Yadav often said how much he trusted
the Kumars, and how it was a source of worry that Bola Kumar’s sons might not
carry on the traditional family service. Arun Kumar, Bola Kumar’s first son,
wants a government job, and considers the work of his father demeaning.
Commenting on that, B.S. Yadav often said that the Scheduled Castes have too
many privileges, and that since their political party, the BSP, won some
parliamentary seats they do not want to carry on their traditional jobs, and think
they can govern U.P.

The Bahujan Samaj Party, which draws its support mainly from SC
members, is quite strong in Mathura district. In the general election of 1998 it was
second only to the BJP." Amongst the clean castes of Sadar Bazaar there is a
strong anti-BSP and anti-SC sentiment. This separation was effectively expressed

99 In the 12th Lok Sabha Election Results for Mathura constituency, 48 per cent of the
votes went to Tej Veer Singh (BJP), 18 per cent to Pooran Prakash (BSP), 16 per cent to
Manvendra Singh (SP).

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on the day of the 1999 parliamentary elections. Outside the electoral-polling
stations the different political parties set up their kiosks from which party workers
welcomed their supporters and helped them to cast their vote. While the
Congress, Samajwadi Party and BJP kiosks were located close to each other, the
kiosk of the Bahujan Samaj Party was positioned two hundred metres away and
behind a comer. This separation was also emphasised by the fact that there was no
interaction between the people who went to cast their vote for the Congress, BJP
and SP and those who went to cast their vote for the BSP. While supporters of the
Congress, BJP and Samajwadi Party, stopped to chat with people from other
‘kiosks’, after having cast their vote, there was no interaction between them and
the BSP supporters who were almost entirely member of Scheduled Castes.

Although Yadav caste associations organise Other Backward Classes

meetings and explicitly express their commitment against Untouchability, I never
met a SC member attending or delivering a speech at such events. A recent
controversy showed how in practice Yadav caste associations are not willing to
encompass in their social category members of SC communities who claim to
descend from Krishna. At the AIYM meeting held in Gurgaon in 1998, a member
of the committee raised the issue that Jatavs in Agra and Rajasthan had begun to
adopt the Yadav title. A member of the audience pointed out that he had already
written to the Mahasabha secretary to inform him that in Bharatpur (Rajasthan)
the local Jatavs were calling themselves Yadavs. Another pointed out that in
Udaipur Jatavs who worked as builders and did casual labour were also calling
themselves Yadavs and had adopted the Kadamb Yadav clan. The Mahasabha
secretary said that the AIYM committee would prepare a press-release to be sent
to the local regional newspapers which would clearly explain that these people
were ‘cheaters’ and not Yadavs but Jatavs (Harijans). The representatives of the
Agra and Bharatpur AIYM branches were given the task of sending the article to
the local newspapers.

In Ahir Para informants often pointed this issue out to me, but they also
said that in Sadar Bazaar Jatavs did not have the courage to claim the Yadav title,
and even if they did nobody would believe them. On the other hand, local Jatavs
were not at all interested to claim to be Yadav, and stressed how ‘by making such

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a big fuss Yadav leaders show that they are scared of the Jatavs and the SC in
general’ (Arun Kumar, 25 years old, student).

6We are Kshatriyas but we behave like Vaishyas’: vegetarians

‘with fighting spirit’

The Yadavs of Ahir Para regard themselves almost unanimously as Kshatriyas:

mythological traditions, kinship organisation and ritual practices support this
claim and provide a culturally plausible account of their historical association
with the Rajputs. The kuldevi/kuldevta cults discussed in this chapter provide a
number of examples which illustrate the close relation between the Ahir/Yadavs
and the local Jadon Rajputs. This religious and cultural link contrasts sharply with
the Vaishya-like religious behaviour found among a large section of Mathura
Yadavs.

Rajputs are generally ‘meat-eaters’. Furthermore, as Babb points out, ‘the

very symbolism of sacrifice itself is central to the notion of who Rajputs are’
(Babb 1996: 159). Rajputs are represented as ‘... those who offer themselves on
the battlefield as the goddess’s sacrificial victims’ (ibid.). Conversely, as
examined in the previous sections, animal sacrifice is locally assimilated by
Yadav/Kshatriyas to Tow forms of Hinduism’ and to Tow caste’ customs.
Modem Yadavs, being a ‘higher caste’ and, on top of that, Vaishnava, look at
animal sacrifice with abhorrence. In a number of instances Yadavs described
themselves as ‘Kshatriyas who behave like Vaishyas'.

In order to understand this claim I wish to draw attention to a number of

associations which link the economic history of the Mathura Yadavs with the
spread and adoption of particular religious practices. In modem times, Yadavs
have been trying to become ‘businessmen’ and ‘entrepreneurs’. Moneylending is
another activity previously monopolised by the local Banias (the local Vaishya
community) that is now in the hands of the local Yadavs. The Yadavs’ local
economic and political upsurge in the late 1980s shaped the ritual complex of
Sadar Bazaar. In the last fifty years the Yadavs of Ahir Para have gradually
monopolised and begun to patronise two temples that were previously controlled

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by the local Bania community. By the same token, rich Yadavs tend to embrace
Vaishnava sects, such as the Pusthi Marg and/or the Gaudiya Sampraday, in the
same fashion as business communities did traditionally. They patronise the
construction of new Radha/Krishna temples, as well as the reinvention of new
rituals, such as the Kamsa Festival (see Chapter 5).

The fusion between Vaishya-Kshatriya and pastoral themes can appear

complex and contradictory, but this is not the case in the eyes of Ahir Para
Yadavs. They have a mythological justification as well as local empirical
evidence to tease out such apparent ambiguity.

As a mythological foundation they generally provide the following story:

‘When Yadavs used to live in Gokul, Vrindavan and Braj, they used
to sell milk, curd, and butter. This was their ‘business’. They were
called ‘Gopalan’. Nanda and his colleagues were called ‘Gopas’ or
‘Vaishyas’. Even Krishna said in the Bhagavad Gita (chapter 18,
paragraph 44), that: ‘farming, gopalan and business are the jobs of the
Vaishyas. When the Gopas settled in Mathura and began to govern the
city they began to be called ‘Kshatriyas” (Devi Yadav, 55 years old,
housewife).

Alternatively, as already mentioned in Chapter 2, they justify their Vaishya

behaviour by drawing on a mythological tale which describes how Yadu, the
forefather of Krishna, had two wives: one Kshatriya and the other Vaishya. From
the Kshatriya branch descended Vasudev the father of Krishna, and from the
Vaishya one Nanda, the forefather of Krishna. The unambiguous coexistence of
Kshatriya-Vaishya themes is also locally teased out by empirical evidence, i.e. the
Vaishya-royal character of the local historically dominant family of Mathura: the
Seths. The ‘royal family’ of Mathura is a family of bankers. Most of the members
were and are followers of Pusthi Marg. This Kshatriya-Vaishya local model of
royalty was often presented to me as evidence of the existence and legitimacy of
such a fusion.

The Seth model has certainly had an impact on the way local Yadavs
conceptualise their being ‘Kshatriyas but behaving like Vaishyas ’ without seeing
any apparent contradictions. Ahir Para is located very close to the former mansion
of the Seth family. In addition, the main ritual complex of local Yadavs, Mahadev
Ghat, borders the Seth mansion. The Ahir/Yadavs served the family historically,

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and a number of house managers belong to the Ahir/Yadav community. Today,
the Seth family have left Mathura and the beautiful mansion on the river of the
Yamuna is abandoned. The present Yadavs act informally as the guardians of the
house and protectors of the Seth family dwellings. When in Mathura, the
descendant of the family, Mr Aijun Seth, never fails to pay a visit to Mahadev
Ghat and to give rich offerings to the temple. These acts are interpreted as a sign
of gratitude from the family for the guardian role played by the Yadavs and for
their role as clients in the past. On the basis of past services, today’s Yadavs have
permission to enter the Seth property and use the water pumps for their daily bath.

In Mathura the assumption that Krishna was bom from the Kshatriya and
Vaishya vama is widespread not only amongst Yadavs but also amongst their
Bania neighbours. Similarly, other ethnographies point out how for the Banias
Lord Krishna evolved from the Vaishya and Kshatriya vama (D. Gupta 2000:
126) and how Vaishya-like communities, such as the Agrawal, claimed Krishna to
be a member of their caste (G. Pandey 1990: 112). Others point out how the
cultural identity of a number of trader communities is also related to Rajput
ancestry (Babb 1999). Writing about the relation between Rajputs and Banias,
Babb tells us that Khandeval Jains claim Rajput ancestry but have rejected the
Kshatriya life style. Similarly, Pocock (1973) describes how the Patidars have
been shifting from a Kshatriya model to a Vaishya model of identity (Pocock
1973).

Mathura’s Yadav example is both similar and different to those described

in the available literature. Mathura Yadavs not only claim Rajput origins in the
past, but also claim to be Kshatriya in the present at the same time as rejecting
several aspects of the Kshatriya life style by ‘behaving like Vaishyas’. It should
be emphasised that the Bania model offered in Mathura by the Seth family
presents Banias and the King as having equal status, and this assumption nullifies
contrasting and competing claims of status among Yadavs. Inconsistencies in the
local hierarchical representations of varna do not trouble the Yadavs.

Yadavs emulate a syncretism of Kshatriya and Vaishya models which is at

the ideological level legitimised by the ill-defined nature of Krishna, and at the
empirical level by the dual Vaishya-Kshatriya character of the traditional rules of
Mathura. On the other hand, the adoption of vegetarianism and abhorrence of

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animal sacrifice do not go in hand with non-violence. Babb points out how central
to the cultural identity of the Banias, more than vegetarianism, is non-violence;
and this is what differentiates the Banias from the Rajputs (1999: 17). Although
the Yadavs of Mathura adopted a vegetarian diet and transformed their ‘meat-
eating’ deities into vegetarian ones, central to their identity is their warlike and
violent outlook (see Chapters 5 and 6 ). Bania informants endlessly drew to my
attention the violent behaviour of the local Yadavs, whereas conversely Yadavs
said that the Banias were cowards and incapable of fighting. Yadav boys who put
on weight, who do not enjoy wrestling, or have peaceful and quiet personalities
are teased by their companions with Bania nicknames. This draws my attention to
the fact that informants never said ‘we behave like Banias’ and this is because
they consider them ‘effeminate’ and not able to fight. Thus, they refer to the
vama concept rather than to the caste model provided locally. The Vaishya-vama
concept which scripturally encompasses herdsmen and cowherders, allows
informants on the one hand to adopt a number of dimensions of the Vaishya
repertoire and on the other to exclude others.

Ahir/Yadav ‘lineages’ and their sacred protectors

In Chapter 2 I showed how Yadavs are conscious of their genealogy and how
certain subdivisions within the community are today more important than others.
In short, the largest kinship categories within the local Yadav community are the
vanshs: the Yaduvanshi, the Nandavanshi and the Goallavanshi. Progressing
down towards smaller kinship units, the next unit after the vansh is the got (clan).
After the got comes the parivar.

Today, of all the segments mentioned the one that plays the largest role in
defining the Yadav community is the got. The boundaries of the vansh categories
are ill defined. The emergence of the encompassing Krishnavanshi social category
is an explicit sign of the decadence of ‘traditional’ Ahir endogamous kinship
units. In contrast, the unit of exogamy, the got, is still relevant. Apart from its role
in the practical matters of exogamy, the got is important because, theoretically at
least, it was the unit protected by the kuldevi and the kuldevta. I say theoretically

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because local people can use the term ‘kuV to refer respectively to their vansh,
their got or their parivar. The concept is indeed flexible and can comprise small
or largely extended kinship groups. Thus, the lineage deity may or may not be
empirically associated with kinship groups designated with the term got and
parivar. As we shall see, a number of Yadav kuldevis and kuldevtas are associated
with smaller segmentary units; others protect many different groups belonging to
various parivars, gots and vanshs (see Harlan 1992: 11-12).

Studies of clan organisation in India have tended to support the view that
lineage deities separate groups into those whom one may marry and those whom
one may not marry (see Harlan 1992; Bennett 1983). The case of the Ahir/Yadavs
is at present not clear-cut. A number of clans have their specific lineage deities,
while others share the same kul deities. A number of informants told me that this
is a legacy of their migratory past and that people forgot their original deity and
adopted local ones. Others instead proudly maintained their original deity and
said that when their ancestors moved, their gods moved with them. Lineage
deities vary, therefore, in their degree of territorial and social inclusiveness. In the
next section, which is dedicated to the cult of Mekhasur, I illustrate how lineage
deity cults can provide information about the migratory past of the Ahir/Yadav
gots, and about the present consanguineal relations between different localised
portions of clans. Going back to the issue of the got/kul deity relation and the role
of the kul deities in demarcating exogamous boundaries, I can safely say that
contemporary Mathura members of different vanshs legitimised their inter-vansh
marriage alliances by saying that they were all Krishnavanshi and that they had
the same kuldevta, namely Krishna. Therefore, the argument that lineage deities
define the exogamous unit is locally dismissed.

The most popular kuldevis deities are Nari-Semri, Kaila Devi, Anandi-
Bandi and Anjina Devi; while the most popular kuladevtas are Krishna,
Goverdhan Baba, Mekhasur and Pir Baba (Gogaji). In the next sections, I
examine a number of these cults and their relations with local Yadav kinship
units. Most of my informants identify their present lineage deities with the place
where their family members are supposed to have their shaving ceremonies
(called mundan and done for boys), performed as well as with the place where a
bride and groom should worship the groom’s lineage god after the marriage. On

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the whole it is the relation between kuldevis and specific clans that is more vague
than the relation between kuldevtas and clans. It is for this reason that the next
sections will be devoted mainly to the exploration of lineage ‘male’ deities.

Ahir/Yadav kuldevtas and Kshatriya-pastoral themes

This section focuses on the local Yadav ‘male’ lineage deities. It explores the
relationships between these deities, hero-god cults, and their pastoralist-bard ritual
specialists. I investigate the assimilation of such cults to the cult or mythology of
the god Krishna. This choice of emphasis is not casual. Both the conversations
and the behaviour of ordinary Yadavs indicate their ‘preference’ for their male
lineage deities over their female ones. In innumerable instances, when directly
questioned about the name of their kuldevis (lineage goddesses), informants
replied with the name of their ‘male’ kuldevta. Soon I realised that for most of
them the structural and symbolic relation between the kul and the protective male
deity was clearer than the identical relation between the female lineage deity and
the kul. The latter generally tended to be conceived and worshipped more as a
family deity and as protector of the household than of the lineage. In contrast,
kuldevtas have strong relations with the clan. In many instances the caretakers of
their main shrines were, and are, the genealogists (jagas) of the gots protected by
them. Being related to patrilineal descent, kuldevta cults are mainly a male
domain.

Ahir/Yadavs’ preference for the ‘male’ kul deities might also be

understood as a legacy of their pastoral past. A number of ethnographies on
pastoral religious practices have noted how traditionally ‘pastoral groups often
see the goddesses as a demon dangerous to cattle. This, in various instances, led
to the assimilation of goddess into god cults’ (Sontheimer 1993: 34-68). In
addition, pastoral groups understand kul deities and their functions in a different
way to Rajputs. Among both Rajputs and Yadavs the kuldevis and kuldevtas are
supposed to be ‘special’ deities since they are considered responsible for the birth
of the kul. According to Harlan, ‘a goddess begins her career as kuldevi when she
becomes incarnate at a critical point in time in order to rescue an endangered

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group of Rajputs whom she judges worthy of her protection’ (1992: 52). In doing
this, she usually helps the leader of a community to establish a kingdom. In
moments of political crisis or war she might reappear using her ‘shaktV to help
and protect the descendants of the leader. Kuldevis are, therefore, protectors of
kingdoms and of their families. Above all these goddesses are protectors on the
battlefield.

The pastoral ‘male’ kuldevtas are equally linked with kingship:

‘.. .defending and rescuing cattle was a successful way to begin a dynasty. Such a
feat would make the defender a hero and secure him prosperity or, if he was killed
in battle, bring renown to him and his descendants’ (Sontheimer 1993: 101).
Yadavs’ kuldevtas are in fact often glorified cowherders, who defended the herd
of the community. In a number of instances these heroes are conceptualised as
later avatars of Krishna. Yadavs thus connect their male kul deities to their
mythical royal/pastoral heritage and to Krishna: the king of the gods. There can
be little doubt that such Kshatriya affinities played an important part in the
association of the Ahir/Yadavs with the cult of these sets of deities. The
foundation myths of the various deities all converge on Yadav royal dynasties and
on descent lines o f ‘cowherder kings’, thereby representing a fusion between
‘pastoral’ and ‘Kshatriya’ themes.

Parallel to that, Yadavs’ ‘female’ kuldevis have been historically

connected with the local Jadon (Yadav) Rajput branches and with the royal
lineage of Karouli in eastern Rajasthan. The Jadon Rajputs of Mathura and nearby
districts claim descent from Yadu, son of Yayati, the fifth king of the lunar
dynasty. The lineage of the Raja of Karouli is traced back to Krishna. This lineage
was represented in Braj by the Raja of Awa in the teshil of Jaleshar of the present
Etah district. The local shrine of the main Yadav kul deities, such as Nari-Semri,
Anandi-Bandi, Anjina Devi and Chamunda, are all located in Jadon Rajput
villages, and for centuries their main traditional patrons have been local Jadon
Rajputs. 1 0 0

This trend could represent an interesting example of how the local religious structure
has been shaped by the political one. Alternatively, it can also be viewed as ‘evidence’ of
a plausible Rajput/Ahir connectedness and a legacy of ancient Ahir/Yadav warrior-
pastoral royalty. A number of Yadav traditions are in fact so intimately compatible with

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 In adittion, these deities have been historically associated with the
mythology of Krishna and included in the pilgrimage circuit of Braj. 1 0 1 For
example, in Nari-Semri the twin deities Nari and Semri are visited every year by
thousands of pilgrims (Vaudeville 1996: 62). The deity at Semri is known as the
‘the dark-skinned one’ and ‘the mistress of cattle’. Nari is more commonly known
as Kinnari. It is said that in order to persuade Radha to give up her pride (mana),
Krishna assumed the female form of Kinnari. In Anandi-Bandi, the twin deities
Anandi and Bandi are also linked to the mythology of Krishna. According to local
Yadavs, the religious complex in the village was originally dedicated to the
lineage deity of Nanda, and Krishna’s hair-shaving ceremony (mundari) is said to
have been performed there. Similarly, the cult of Anjina Devi is associated with
Krishna. Anjina Devi is the lineage deity of the royal Jadon-Rajput family of
Karauli. According to myth, immediately after his birth Krishna was smuggled
out of Mathura to escape from the murderous designs of his uncle Kamsa, and
was taken to Gokul. The goddess Anjina Devi, known also as Hanuman’s mother,
is said to have acted as the protector of Krishna during the trip from Mathura to
Gokul. Anjina Devi has often been mentioned to me as the kuldevi of the Brajbasi
Yadavs. However, only a few families in Ahir Para worship her, and none of them
were able to say why they considered her to be their kuldevi. Only one old man
was able to tell me the above story.

On the whole the exploration of Yadav lineage deities sheds light on the
complex relation between Rajputs and Ahir/Yadavs and more generally between
pastoral groups, Krishna mythology and Rajput culture. Exploring the structural
nature of the fusion between the cowherder myths and the Kshatriya myths, and
the historical social relations between the local Jadon Rajputs and the
Ahir/Yadavs is a hard task. Drawing on religious studies undertaken in the area

major Kshatriya themes that it is impossible to resist the temptation to see them as
‘authentic original’ cults of the pastoral communities of Braj.
101 Many of the ‘female’ kuldevis popular in the Braj area are now associated with the
cult of Radha. The synthesis between Radha and local goddesses in the area of Braj is
common. There are similar Saiva/Vaishnava syntheses across the region. However, this is
a particular case and it has not been looked at in any detail previously. Hence, further
research is needed to assess how the balance between the two cults works. For an
exploration of the cult of Radha see Hawley and Wulff (1984).

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and on my own ethnography I attempt to explore these ‘special’ connections and
to explain how they might have originated, as well as their transformation in the
light of the current political and economic changes.

Gods are ancestors and ancestors can become gods

This section builds up a picture of the Ahir/Yadav pantheon and its structural
similarities with other pastoral communities in India. In addition it describes the
importance of the role of hero-god cults amongst Yadavs. The Yadavs are no
longer a nomadic or semi-nomadic community like their ancestors used to be. In
the last two centuries they have become a sedentary and agricultural community.
However, this does not mean that the religious world of the Yadavs is no longer
linked to their pastoral nomadic past. Many of the Yadavs’ places of worship are
located in other districts, sometimes in far-off areas in the middle of the ‘jungle’.
A number of local Ahir/Yadav caste-specific cults are to be found hundreds of
miles distant from Mathura and located in other states. The ethnography of Yadav
religious life required a lot of travel. The mapping of their ‘traditional’ cults
mirrors in many ways the history of the Ahir migrations that occurred through the
centuries.

In reviewing the few available studies of nomadic and semi-nomadic

pastoralists in India, my first observation is that there are striking similarities in
the ideologies and religious practices of the different pastoral groups m India.
Ancestral grazing activities and migratory habits have presumably ecologically
shaped the ways members of pastoral communities relate to the gods. 1 0 3 Like
other pastoral castes Yadavs traditionally hold that the worship of their deities
does not need the services of Brahmans. 1 0 4 The complex of shrine, religious
specialist and rituals was considered necessary but not indispensable. Most of the

102 Srivastava (1997) on Rabaries and Sontheimer (1993) on Dhangars (now called
Yadavs).
103 According to Sontheimer the landscape also made its mark on the religion of the
pastoral groups (1993: 104).
104 For comparative ethnographic data on the religious life of the Raikas see Srivastava
(1997: 50).

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Yadav lineage deities do not traditionally demand the use of religious specialists
and intermediaries for their worship. In fact, the ritual complex was not always
available for migratory people like the Ahirs.

To begin with, Ahir/Yadavs’ Hindu pantheon is composed of gods and

goddesses who are also ancestors: ‘All Yadavs are Krishna’s children’; ‘All
members of the Deshwar clan (got) are Mekhasur’s children’. These are common
statements which blur the relation between human beings and gods. Today,
Yadavs trace a direct line of descent from the god Krishna, and there is no
conceptual problem in defining him as ‘an ancestor’. In the past, and to some
extent even today, other gods such as Ahir or Rajput heroes were/are perceived as
ancestors. Therefore, gods can be perceived as ancestors, and by the same token
ancestors can become gods (Srivastava 1997: 53). The analysis of the hero-god
cults, so popular amongst the Ahir/Yadavs and amongst pastoral castes sheds
light on the relationship between gods and human ancestors. The hero-god cults
are often accompanied by epic mythological accounts (<allahs, lok kathas) and
typical Ahir songs (virahas) that are acted out by local castes specialised in their
performance in the form of songs and dances. My informants considered these
epics and songs as histories of their caste/clan/family (see Chapter 5).

Worship of ‘deified dead’ is common among rural castes of northern India

(cf. Blackburn 1985). Members of lower and middle ranking rural castes
constitute the majority of their followers. Coccari (1989), in her study on deified
gods in the city of Benares, recorded a number of specific castes. Amongst these,
she mentioned the Ahirs, the Gaderiya, the Kunbi, the Kumbar, the Mali, the Pasi
and the Chamar (ibid.: 228). In theory any person can become a ‘deified hero’.
However, in northern India the members of particular communities, such as the
Ahir/Yadavs, are considered to be more prone to become hero-gods than
members of other castes. The Yadavs are said to have ‘heroic substance’ (ibid.:
260). ‘They cherished the view of themselves as brave fighters and leaders among
a collection of allied castes with whom they are found in village and urban
settings’ (ibid.: 260). The Hindi oral epics of Lorik, and of Adhal and Udal,
understood by many Yadavs as their oral history, highlight the heroism of their
ancestors and provide ‘historical proof of Ahir martial glory’ (see Chapter 5).

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 Amongst the Ahirs there is the tendency, therefore, to establish memorials
to their untimely dead and to worship them as caste/clan heroes. Many of these
shrines remain family, clan or caste deities, or guardians of cattle fertility, safety
and health. Others acquired the status of regional pilgrimage sites known for
exorcism and wish fulfilment. These ‘hero-gods’ are locally known as lBir Baba’
or ‘ Vir Babas\ The most common representation of the Bir Babas found in
Mathura and nearby districts is a clay/marble/cow-dung mound (pind, stup,
gumbad) set upon a raised platform. A recurrent pattern in the process of
worshipping a hero-god appears to exist. Tradition holds that the hero-gods were
human in the past and that they died in extraordinary circumstances. They usually
died during a battle or a fight with members of other castes (especially landed
castes), or with members of the Muslim community, or with tigers. The object of
such disputes is usually the protection of ‘cows’ and the protection of ‘Brahmans’
and/or ’Hindus’. The deification of the hero is accompanied by the composition of
a song (viraha) which tells the story of the hero. Hero-gods are also linked with
spirit possession.

My ethnographic data on the hero-godsIkuldevta of Mathura are confined

to the Yadav caste, and more specifically to the figures of Mekhasur and Pir Baba
(known also as Gogaji) . 1 0 5 In Mathura the Birs are usually worshipped on
Monday, the day of the week usually devoted to the worship of the family deities.
On the same day, puja is performed for the family goddess (kuldevi). In addition,
special pujas are offered on Goverdhan Puja and on Holi. These forms of cults
among the Yadavs of Mathura are slowly disappearing. The young generation is
losing the knowledge of the songs and epics connected to their worship. Even
many amongst the eldest devotees did not know the life’s stories of the gods and
the viraha related to their worship.

In the next section I provide the illustrative example of the worship of

Mekhasur, a Bir Baba/kuldevtas whose main shrine is located in Gangiri, Atrauli

105For reasons of space I only present ethnographic data on the cult of Mekhasur. Lapoint
(1978) illustrated the cult of Gogaji in northern India. In Mathura Gogaji is known by the
name of Pir Baba or Jahavir. Near Sathgara, a temple that used to be dedicated to Pir
Baba is run by local Yadavs. In the 1950s, the temple was transformed into a Dhouji
temple (the local name for Krishna’s brother). Then, ten years ago, it was converted into
a Radha-Krishna temple.

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teshil, Aligarh district, which is 150 kilometres from Mathura town. In Ahir Para,
the Yadav neighbourhood from which the bulk of the ethnographic data presented
in this chapter comes, there are two permanent shrines of Mekhasur. Both the
parivars which worship Mekhasur are originally from Kannauj in Central Doab
(Uttar Pradesh) and are related by blood with the Ahir/Yadavs of Gangiri in
Aligarh where the main shrine of Mekhasur lies.

The cult of Mekhasur: from hero-cowherder god to the

epic Krishna

The cult of Mekhasur and the changes and continuities it has experienced over the
last one hundred years provide an exemplary story of the processes of
transformation that the Ahir/Yadavs of the area have been facing. Furthermore,
such an analysis reveals interesting trends of evolution within the broader Hindu
tradition. As Bennett has stated, ‘it is only by looking at religious movements in
their wide historical and cultural sweep that patterns can be discerned which are
of continuing relevance in the present, awareness of which enables the
anthropologist to analyse his field data within a wider temporal perspective’
(1983: 13). It is to this method that I have resorted in the analysis of the Mekhasur
cult. By adding the analysis of oral and written texts to the fieldwork, I attempt to
reconstruct parts of forgotten history. 1 0 6

I have divided the history of the Mekhasur shrine and cult into three broad
phases. By the end of the nineteenth century, Mekhasur is portrayed in written
colonial documents as the ‘totemic god’ of the Aheriya: a nomadic ‘criminal’
tribe spread through all the North Western Provinces and Oudh (today Uttar
Pradesh). Oral histories collected in Mathura and Gangiri, the village where the
main shrine is located, state that by the early 1920s Mekhasur was worshipped as
the kuldevta of the local Ahir/Yadavs of the Deshwar got. Contemporary

106 See Khan: ‘Whenever events cannot be reconstructed on the basis of inscriptions,
learned treaties, travelogues and census reports, ethnographical data collected through the
direct observation of shrines and rituals, as well as the recording of legends and songs,
followed by their critical examination from an anthropological point of view may have an
important contribution to make’ (1997: 18).

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ethnographic data collected during my fieldwork, illustrate how the cult of
Mekhasur is no longer confined to the Deshwar and Javeria Ahirs. In contrast,
today it is popular amongst all the Yadavs of the area. Five years ago, on
Mekhasur’s tomb, a statue of Krishna was installed. The kuldevta shrine has
gradually been transformed into a Krishna temple served by a Brahman priest.

Mekhasur: ‘the totemic god of the Aheriya tribe’

The history of the shrine and of Mekhasur mirrors in many ways the history of the
transformation that occurred to the Ahir/Yadavs of the area in the last one
hundred years. It shows how the Aheriya, a nomad pastoral caste and also
‘criminal tribe’, have been gradually absorbed within the Ahir category, and
subsequently into the Yadav one. How did the connection between the Aheriya
and Ahir/Yadavs come about? Unfortunately there are very few data on this
process of absorption. The Aheriyas are described as ‘a tribe of hunters, fowlers
and thieves found in Central Doab’. ‘Devi (goddess) is their special object of
worship, but Mekhasur is their tribal godling’ (Crooke 1890: 45). According to
Crooke, his name means ‘ram demon” : ‘The Aheriya, a vagrant tribe of the North
Western Provinces, worship Mekhasur or Meshasura in the form of a ram’ (ibid.:
45) . 1 0 7

The ethnographic description provided by Crooke presents Mekhasur as a

godling worshipped with sweets and occasionally with goats. He states that an
Ahir (or Aheriya) takes the offering (1890: 45). Mekhasur was also worshipped at
home: ‘some make a house shrine dedicated to Mekhasur in a room set apart for
the purpose. Only married women are permitted to join in this worship, but
unmarried girls and kardo (second) wives are excluded. The sacrifices to these

107 See also Crooke (1896: 226): ‘We perhaps get a glimpse of totems in connection with
the goat in some of the early Hindu legends. When Parusha the primeval man, was
divided into his male and female parts, he produced all the animals, and the goat was first
formed out of his mouth. There is again a mystical connection between Agni, the fire
god, Brahmans, and goats as between Indra, the Kshatriya, and sheep, Vaishya and kine,
Sudra and the horse. These may possibly have been tribal totems of the races by whom
these animals are venerated. The sheep, as we have already seen is a totem of the
Keriyas...’.

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tribal godlings are done by some members of the family and not by a regular
priest’ (ibid.: 46).

Mekhasur was considered the protector of the Aheriyas, and plausibly

linked with robbers and thieves as well as with heroes and warriors. The Aheriyas
were hunters with bows and arrows and were associated with the jungle. The
Ahirs were also considered a ‘criminal’ tribe even if not denotified as the
Aheriyas. 1 0 8 The census of 1871-72 classified the Aheriyas as a subdivision
(‘subcaste’) of the Ahirs. In the census of 1891, the number of people who
declared to be Aheriya consistently diminished, while the number of Ahirs
increased instead. A large number of Aheriyas declared to be Ahirs. Being
considered Ahir meant, for the Aheriyas, not to be subjugated to the Criminal
Tribe Act and to the policy of control related to it. Thus, for a member of the
Aheriya caste, it was definitively more convenient to be classified by the
government authorities as Ahirs. 1 0 9

By the beginning of the twentieth century, a large number of Ahirs,

coming from Central Uttar Pradesh (Kannauj), migrated to Braj and nearby areas.
I base this on the data collected through genealogies amongst the Yadavs of
Mathura and of Gangiri. Moreover, influences of kannuji dialect are still
noticeable in the teshil of Atrauli and can plausibly be interpreted as a legacy of
such old migrations from the east of the state. More specifically, the ancestors of
the major lineages, which today are still present in Ahir Para, migrated from
Kannauj, Mainpuri and Etah. Presumably, the Ahirs, who were already the
caretakers of the shrine, gradually monopolised the worship of Mekhasur. By the
1930s it became the local ‘caste’ temple of the Ahirs and lost any connection with
the Aheriya tribe (C.S. Yadav: personal communication).

108 The Criminal Tribe Act (1871) attempted to control the so-called ‘criminal tribes’.
From the middle of the nineteenth century some persistent turbulent social groups in
North India were collectively labelled ‘criminal’. The police tried to register and limit
their movements, a policy which eventually gained legal sanction by 1871.The 1911
Criminal Act allowed local governments to declare an entire community ‘criminal’, to
deprive it of its right under the law and force its members to work on approved sites.
109 NAI Home Judicial, Proceeding, August 1875, File 60-64. Proclamation as criminal
tribes of the Aherias in the villages of Etah district. See also Census of India 1871-72;
Census of India 1881 and Census of India 1891.

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 As shown in Chapter 2, historically the Ahirs tended to absorb through
marriage alliances the lower autochthonous pastoral castes that they encountered
through their movements. The Ahirs had a marked preferential hypergamous
marriage pattern. Wife-givers were and are generally considered inferior to wife-
takers. It is plausible, therefore, that the Ahir caste members who found
themselves at the bottom of their local caste hierarchy were forced to take their
brides from the higher strata of the Aheriya. Unfortunately, this is purely
speculative and there is no historical evidence to prove it.

Mekhasur’s cult in Ahir Para. The kuldevta of the ‘Dudh Parivar’

and ‘Chaudhri Parivar’

This section describes the cult of Mekhasur in Ahir Para. Local people indicate
two families, the Chaudhry and Dudh Parivars as founders of Ahir Para. They are
both originally from Kannauj and have agnatic relations with the Yadavs of
Atrauli district where the shrine of Mekhasur lies. It is plausible that members of
the same exogamous clusters moved from Kannauj together and while a part
settled down in Mathura the rest settled down in the Atrauli district of Aligarh.

Mekhasur as a deity appears to have a marked territorial character as well

as a clan character. The mythological tales related to his worship are very similar
to the stories and legends related to the worship of hero-gods in Kannauj, the
Bhojpur area (eastern Uttar Pradesh) and West Bihar (districts of Bhagalpur and
Dharbanga). In the 1930s, colonial ethnographers such as Archer, Risley and
Hamilton-Buchanan collected in detail a number of such legends. With the
following note Archer commented on the relevance of the worship of hero-gods
among the Ahirs of western Bihar: ‘it is remarkable that none of the sects (Ahir
subcaste) speaks of worshipping ‘Krishna’ who is really the lord of the Gowala
(local name for Ahirs) ’ . 1 1 0 These deities are mainly described as cow protectors.

1101.O.L., Archer Private Papers, MSS Eur F236/21. ‘There is always an asthan (place of
worship) where the incarnation {avatar) died. It is called a pindy representing a mound of
earth on a raised earthen platform generally under the tree. But such asthans are copied
and made at other villages too where the Gowalas worship the particular incarnation for:

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Their cult is confined to matters of animal welfare. They are worshipped at
occasional events connected with cows and buffaloes: when the latter are
indisposed or the females do not conceive, when the she-cow is about to deliver a
calf and before migrating with the animal herds. Archer described the legends and
deeds of more than fifteen local hero-gods. Their type of worship is consistent
with contemporary ethnographic data on Mekhasur’s cult. 1 1 1 Given the striking
similarities between the cults of hero gods in Kannauj, eastern Uttar Pradesh and
western Bihar, it seems justified to speculate that the cult of Mekhasur might have
been ‘exported’ to the Braj area by the nomadic Ahir tribes, coming from the East
of the country.

Deities in Ahir Para can be divided into caste-free deities and caste-
specific deities. 1 1 2 The latter deities are those in which members of a particular
caste have particular faith. Mekhasur is a strictly Yadav cult both in Ahir Para and
in Gangiri. In Ahir Para there are two little shrines dedicated to Mekhasur, one in
the main Deshwar family (belonging to the ‘Dudh Parivar’) and one in one of the
Jaweria clan households (belonging to the ‘Chaudhri Parivar’). On various
occasions in conversations with old men and women of the Chaudhri Parivar and
Dudh Parivar, I was told that Mekhasur was supposed to help them because he
110

was their ancestor and therefore he cared for the welfare of his descendants.

i. increasing the number of cattle; ii. caring the disease (if any) of other cattle; iii. for
finding out any lost cattle, iv. on fulfilment of any desire’.
111 This is the general form of worship described by Archer in his manuscripts:
‘Before starting the worship of the incarnation, Goddess, namely Bhagvati, is as a rule
first worshipped. Worship is done by a particular Gowala (Ahir) who is more religiously
inclined and is called Bhagat. He keeps himself on fast on the day of worship which is
generally a Sunday and would wash the asthan with cow-dung to purify it and then offer
worship to the incarnation with unboiled aroa rice (i.e. achnat), ganja, bhang,
sweetmeats, unboiled milk, incense flowers... In case of fulfilment of desire, he or she
goats are offered to the incarnation (gosai) and goddess respectively. The bhagat would
then start singing the song of the particular incarnation concerned. The songs are very
lengthy and take days and days together and sometimes one whole week or more to
finish. Songs are generally sung in the evening and continue the whole night and are
generally divided into parts describing different stages of life of the incarnation.. .’(ibid.).
112 For the elaboration of the distinction between caste-free deities and caste-specific
deities see Srivastava (1997: 54).
1,3 Ex-human deities are often thought to be particularly understanding about the needs of
ordinary people, especially members of their former family/community (Fuller 1992: 50).

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The stories about Mekhasur collected in Ahir Para were quite diverse. I collected
several different versions of the Mekhasur legend.

Pratap Singh is an old man and a cowherder. He belongs to the Deshwar

got. In the courtyard of his house lies a gumbad, an orange-coloured hill, which is
said to represent Mekhasur. Mr Pratap Singh was not able or not willing to
provide any information about what he calls: ‘his ancestor’. He only said that he
was a brave Ahir and that his main shrine is to be found near Gangiri, in Aligarh
district. He adds that he went twice to visit the shrine. Finally, he said that if
Mekhasur considered it opportune, he would have appeared in my dreams and
personally told me his story. Alternatively, he suggested I go to Gangiri and talk
with the jagas (local term for genealogists) of the temple. The caretaker of
Mekhasur’s shrine acts as genealogist to a number of Yadav lineages. Until
twenty years ago, these jagas used to visit Ahir Para regularly and spent a couple
of days registering the new-born. Furthermore, they used to sing songs related to
the life of Mekhasur and collected offerings for his shrine. 1 1 4

In the family of Pratap Singh, as in that of Hari Singh, puja to Mekhasur is

performed on Monday, by men or by married women. On the day after Diwali,
the festival of the cattle, and on Holi, a special puja is performed by the headman
of the family. Until twenty years ago devotees used to sacrifice a he-goat.
Nowadays Mekhasur has turned into a vegetarian deity and he is said not to like
blood any more. I tried to find out if worshippers of Mekhasur think the deity still
insists on blood bali, and the answers were always negative. Coconut and khir
(rice cooked in milk) and capatti are offered instead. Members of the Deshwar
got are supposed to have their shaving ceremonies (called mundan and done for
boys) performed at the Mekhasur shrine. 1 1 5 Other worshippers of Mekhasur in
Ahir Para were willing to tell me the ‘stories’ of Mekhasur, which contained
different versions of the hero-god legend. Mekhasur is said to be an Ahir and a
cattle-rescuer who died at the hands of his enemies. According to various

114 The connection between Mekhasur care-takers and their role as genealogists and epic
singers is similar to that found among the Charans in Gujarat and Rajasthan. The latter
are the bards of the Rajputs and their origin is pastoralist, see Tambs-Lyche (1997).
115 Amongst the Rajputs, the mundan ceremony in usually done at the kuldevi shrine.

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versions, ‘the enemies’ were either represented by Thakurs (a local landed caste)
or by Muslims.

Aijun Singh Yadav, the head of one of the Javeria households of Ahir
Para, has a representation of Mekhasur in his courtyard. Aijun Singh is a
policeman. His grandfather is said to have taken the cult of Mekhasur from
Kannauj, their district of origin, and to have installed its shrine in the garden.

‘Mekhasur was a young boy. He had a quarrel with his mother and
left his family for a period of tapasya (ascetic life) in the jungle. After
this period, he came back and began to look after the cows of his
family. One day there was a big fight between the Ahir residents of
his village and the residents of the nearby Thakur village. Since god
gifted him with holy powers (juta thona), while he was in the forest
he was able to kill many enemies during the battle that occurred
between the two villages. He finally got killed. In a dream his mother
was informed about the holy powers of her son and she spread the
news throughout the region. Accordingly, a samadhi (memorial
grave) was built and the Mekhasur cult began’.

According to Hari Singh, a former milkman and a devoted bhakta, the story of the
hero-god goes as follows:

‘There were two villages: one inhabited by Yadavs and one by

Thakurs. While grazing his cows Mekhasur entered the Thakur
territory. This act cost him his head (he was decapitated). In the
evening the cows went back to their village followed by the rolling
head of Mekhasur. The head rolled to the master of the village telling
him what happened and ensuring that he kept feeding his cows’.

Thakurs are represented as bad characters in the folk tales current in the Yadav
region of Mathura and Aligarh. The genesis of their mutual recrimination is
reported in various legends. The following is one of the various versions
available:

‘There was a Raja (king) who had two sons from two queens.
Influenced by the charming face of one queen, he nominated her issue
as the heir-apparent, while the other son, although elder, was deprived
of the throne and ancillary privileges. The disinherited son was bom
of a Yadav and the heir-apparent of a Chauhan mother. Then follows
the lengthy story as to how the Yadava prince was later on harassed
by his Chauhan brother, who became king, and finally how the
Yadava prince took his revenge’.

The theme of the contrast between landed castes and pastoral ones is a common
one. Comparative ethnographic material exists about pastoral castes in South

206
India where their disputes with landed castes are usually described as related to
the protection of the cows and of the territory of pasture (Hiltebeitel 1989). Most
other versions of Mekhasur’s tale recorded in Ahir Para identify the enemies of
the Ahir cowherder Mekhasur with the Muslim community. According to Ram
Singh (90 years, famous wrestler and leader of the local Yadav community), ‘the
Muslims’ killed Mekhasur.

‘Mekhasur was a cowherder. He was a single child and had hundreds

of cows to take care of. One day, he went to the jungle and ‘Muslims’
attacked him. His head was decapitated. At home, the cows of
Mekhasur were left starving. The head of Mekhasur is said to have
rolled towards the headman of the village, and informed him to look
after the abandoned cows’.

A different version, but still centred on a dispute with members of the Muslim
community, was provided by Baba Gorakan Das Ji. He is a Yadav ascetic, who
belongs to the Ramanandi sampraday and he is originally from Etawah town. At
present, he is one of the caretakers of Mahadev Ghat complex.

‘Mekhasur was an Ahir orphan boy who lived in the village of

Gangiri in Atrauli district near Aligarh. His village happened to be
attacked by the Muslims while he was grazing his cattle. In his village
lived a Brahman widow and her daughter. During the attack, the
Muslims kidnapped the latter. When he came back from the fields
Mekhasur saw what happened to his village, completely sacked by the
Muslims intruders. He promptly decided to go to rescue the daughter
of the Brahman woman. He (alone) went to the nearby Muslim
village, killed almost everybody and rescued the young Brahman girl.
After a while a number of the Muslims that survived came back to the
village and killed Mekhasur. The Brahman widow buried him and
divulged the story of his bravery throughout Braj. In Gangiri there is
still a samadhi (memorial grave). He is considered the kuldevta by the
members of the Dudh Parivar’.

Many versions of Mekhasur’s legend focus on ‘Muslims’ as the enemies of

Mekhasur and of his cows. This portrayal predictably raises questions about the
nature of the relation between Yadavs and Muslims. In Chapter 1 I described how
the cow is a strong symbol which locally demarcates the Ahir/Y adavs from the
Kasai/Qureshi. The narratives of Mekhasur which portray Ahir/Yadav hero-gods
defending their kin and their herds against the Muslims, are fused with the anti-
Muslim rhetoric popularly diffused by the Sangh Parivar (see Chapter 6 ).

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Mekhasur’s shrine in Gangiri

When I went to Gangiri, I was provided with another version of the story.

‘Mekhasur was from the village of Achalpur. He was adopted by a

Brahman woman, now known and worshipped as Gangi Mata. One of
the daughters of the Brahman woman happened to be kidnapped by a
Muslim of the Bhatti caste. Mekhasur went back to the Muslim
village and rescued the girl. He was injured and left alone in the
forest. To get rid of him the Muslims used a magic spell (jadu thona).
While he was lying injured a voice reached the ears of the Brahman
woman, telling her what happened to Mekhasur. She immediately
went to rescue him, but she found him dead. She buried him at the
spot where today the temple lies. Actually it seems that the shrine lies
where some drops of the blood of Mekhasur dropped’.

Mekhasur’s shrine in Gangiri has only one functionary, the caretaker of the
temple, Mr Gelon Singh Yadav, who also acts as the genealogist for a number of
Yadav gots. Traditionally Mekhasur’s shrine preserved the genealogies of the
members of the Jaweria and Deshwar gots. In recent years, however, the shrine
has become popular amongst the Yadav community of Uttar Pradesh. People
from far off places are said to come to pay homage to Mekhasur, who today is
viewed as a Krishna avatar. During their visits their genealogies are collected
irrespective of their gots and vanshs of origin. 1 1 6 The role of Mekhasur as the
protector of a specific got has been replaced by the role of Mekhasur/Krishna as
protectors of all the Yadavs.

Mr Gelon Singh Yadav’s priestly role is far from being specialised. Any
Yadav man can perform Mekhasur puja. The main priestly role is to clean the
shrine every day and to offer puja every morning and evening. Furthermore, there
are bhagats, namely the mediums. Anybody can become a bhagat. The only
condition is to have faith in the god and to demonstrate devotion. The spirit enters
the bhagat’s body and speaks through his mouth. I was quite surprised when I
witnessed a possession session at Gangiri’s shrine. In Mathura, worshippers of
Mekhasur rarely mention the ‘possession issue’ and if they mentioned it they

116 Unfortunately (for various unlucky reasons), I was never able to examine these
genealogies in detail. This is one of the research areas that I wish to pursue in the next
fieldwork.

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referred to it as a superstitious custom which belonged to an uncivilised past.
Spirit possession is quite a sensitive issue. Yadav informants usually dismiss it as
11 7
a low caste practice. Needless to say, ‘sacrifice’ is another sensitive area.
Today, offers to Mekhasur are only of a vegetarian kind. People from Gangiri told
me that their great-grandfathers stopped sacrificing goats. Mekhasur, I have been
told, does not like blood and does not need it. On purnima (full moon), devotees
‘symbolically’ offer a goat or a little calf and then release them into the jungle. By
the same token, today the Yadavs deny any link with the Aheriya tribe. They
consider its members as belonging to a ‘chote ja ti\ namely untouchables. ‘The
Aheriyas hunt and do sacrifice (bali)\ we do not smoke, drink or eat with them.
Members of the Aheriya caste are not allowed to enter into the shrine’ (B. Yadav,
50 years old, landlord).

As mentioned before, five years ago a statue of Krishna was installed in

the Mekhasur shrine. A wealthy Yadav politician and active member of the local
Yadav Mahasabha branch donated the murti. The temple is covered with
inscriptions which hail Krishna and Radha {Jai Sri Krishna, Jai Radha). A
Brahman priest regularly comes to perform puja to Krishna. At the time of
Krishna’s birthday, Janmastami, and on other major Hindu festivals, such as
Goverdhan Puja, the festival of the cows, a mela is held.

Nowadays Mekhasur is described as a glorified cowherder who is

supposed to be a later incarnation {avatar) of Krishna. Mekhasur as an Ahir hero,
whose life moved between his herd and the fights with Thakurs/Muslims, is
merging with the cult and the mythology of Krishna. Several informants told me
that the possession sessions are becoming rarer. Their explanations were that
‘Krishna’ does not possess his devotees. Moreover, Krishna is conceived to have
universal powers, contrary to Mekhasur whose powers are narrow and localised.
The physical juxtaposition of the two shrines - of Mekhasur and Krishna - is
emblematic of the tension between greater deities and local deities, as well as of

117 On this point, my data are in line with the findings of Harlan (1992). Also in the case
of the Rajput women among whom she did her fieldwork, possession was not considered
dignified.

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the reform efforts of the Yadav community and their creation of a suitable ‘past’
through their ancestor ‘Krishna’.

Goverdhan Baba versus the epic Krishna

In Braj, Krishna is traditionally viewed as a protector of Gopas and Gopis of

whom he is in some way the recognised guardian (Vaudeville 1996: 20). In
conversation elder informants stress how Krishna was bom to destroy the demons
of Gokul, a village near Mathura.

Goverdhan Baba (Krishna-the-cowherder) is said to have lifted the

mountain ‘Goverdhan’ to protect the Yadavs (Gopas and Gopis) and
their cattle from the god of rain Indra and the snake (naga) Kaliya. 118

In this version Krishna is often represented as Goverdhan Raja: the King of

Goverdhan.

Nanda, the headman of Gokul, was persuaded by ‘Goverdhan Baba’

not to sacrifice any animal to Indra. His main argument was that the
pastoral people living in the jungle and being neither farmers nor
merchants, were not obliged to pay any tribute to the god of the Rain.
Instead he invited the pastoral people to sacrifice an animal to the
Goverdhan mountain and to do parikramma around the cattle
decorated with garlands of flowers. Nanda followed the advice of
Goverdhan Baba. On the other hand, Indra was furious and provoked
a wild storm over Braj. It is then that ‘Krishna’ uprooted mount
Goverdhan and used it as an umbrella to protect the Yadavs and their
cattle. When Indra left, the Yadavs carried on worshiping Mount
Goverdhan and Krishna together (Radha Yadav, 40 years old,
housewife) . 119

118 Hari Singh Yadav, an old and retired milk-seller, often invited me to go to the

Mathura Museum where two iconographic representations of Krishna-Gopala, which

both depict the Goverdhan episode, are kept.
119 Every year, the day after Diwali, pastoral castes celebrate Annakut, or as it is often

called Goverdhan Puja. On this day the role of the Brahman pujari is downplayed.
Cowherders are invited into the temples of Braj to preside over the rituals. These
ceremonies are clearly intended to ensure the fertility and wellbeing of the cattle, see
Toomey (1994).

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In Ahir Para, old people who worship Krishna-Gopala as their kuldevta refer to
him as Goverdhan Baba. In Braj, Goverdhan is worshipped as Krishna’s svarup
his own true form in nature’ (Toomey 1994: 21). In contrast, Ahir/Y adavs who
traditionally used to worship other kuldevtas, such as Pir Baba or Mekhasur, and
now consider Krishna as their kuldevtas, refer to the latter as ‘Krishna Vasudeva’:
Krishna of the epic, the Yadava prince of Dwarka and ally of the Pandavas.
References to the Goverdhan episode and to Krishna-Gopal are, therefore,
surprisingly seldom mentioned by younger people. In their descriptions the figure
of Krishna relates more to the ‘epic Krishna’ and to episodes of the Mahabharata.
On one of the very first days of my fieldwork, while I was still introducing myself
to the community, I was struck by the statement of Hari Singh Yadav who told
me that since the Mahabharata TV serial had been broadcast nobody could ever
deny Yadavs’ princely Krishna ancestry. Different persons at different stages of
my fieldwork repeated this statement (see Chapter 5).

Here, the tutelary function of the epic ‘Krishna’ as a kuldevta is justified

and proved by mythological episodes from the Mahabharata. The entry of Krishna
in the Mahabharata, who as a god helps the Yadav prince Aijuna to perform his
martial duty was the most common example referred to. The next chapter
illustrates how the passage from Krishna-the-cowherder to Krishna the ‘prince’
and ‘politician’ has been promoted by the ideology of the ATYM and by Yadav
politicians. It shows how Yadav religious reformist attitudes are coupled with the
construction of a dignified ‘Yadav heritage’.

Conclusion

In the previous chapter, I showed how the idea of a unique Krishnavanshi kinship
category which fuses traditional subdivisions (Yaduvanshi, Nandavanshi and
Goallavanshi) into a single endogamous unit is spreading rapidly. Intermarriage
between different ‘endogamous’ units is, day-by-day, more popular. This chapter
showed how the process of amalgamation has been gradually accompanied by a
parallel homogenisation of the Ahir/Yadav Hindu pantheon: Krishna has
gradually become the main god as well as the main ancestor. Local clan deities

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are disappearing and losing their functions and powers. 1 2 0 By taking a set of
deities as representative of a certain ideology and by following their
transmutations or substitution with other deities (and ideologies), I attempted to
shed further light on the empirical construction of the Yadav community and its
complex dimensions. 1 2 1 The ‘traditional’ cult of kul deities worshipped by
different Ahir subdivisions in a way mirrors the ‘discrete’ nature and peculiarities
of the different got/vanshs which make up the total Yadav community.

As others have widely acknowledged there is a connection between the

structure of the Hindu pantheon and the structures of Indian society (Bougie
1991; Dumont 1970; Fuller 1992). Accordingly, Hinduism is said to correspond
to a particular social structure, which is caste. The ethnographic exploration of
kinship and religion in Ahir Para showed how modem transformations are still
partly in line with such explanatory schemas. The Yadav community is still
inseparable from Hinduism as the Ahir jatis were in the past. The demise of the
purity-pollution idiom does not equal the demise of the religious aspects of caste.
If on the one hand ritual hierarchy has been undermined as a principle of social
stratification, on the other ‘ritual descent’ has dynamically facilitated Yadav
adaptation to the modem political world. The substantive nature of the
Ahir/Yadav community which is linked to Krishna as ‘substantial’ deity, has
helped Ahir/Y adavs from different parts of the country to interact with one
another horizontally. Thus, such interactions do not belong to the realm of ‘non­
ritual space’ (Seth 1999: 96) but in contrast they are permeated by a religious
ethos.

Yadav ‘communalised’ caste consciousness is hence still encompassed by

Hinduism and this is not only expressed by the constant emphasis on their
‘divine’ heritage but also by their emphasis on religious reform. The ideology and
organisation of the ‘traditional’ caste system might have been partly eroded but
this does not mean that the socio-religious content has disappeared from the ‘new’
substantialised Yadav community. Ahir/Yadav subdivisions might no longer

120 The ‘substantial’ Sanskritic deity ‘Krishna’ legitimises, in principle, the equality
between the different subdivisions within the Yadav community. For the elaboration of
the concept of ‘substantial’ divinity amongst the Great Deities see Fuller (1992: 96).
121 For similar analysis see Ghurye (1962) and Tambs-Lyche (1997: 86).

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relate to each other as units of a social hierarchy but they still relate in terms of a
socio-religious idiom. I suggest therefore that to say that that ‘the caste system,
long conceived as a ritual system, has imploded’ (Seth 1999: 106) is an
oversimplification. As the ethnography of Yadav ‘heritage’ and religious
practices show, ritual hierarchy is not the only religious aspect of caste and
modem communities still search for religious reference and legitimation in
Hinduism.

Ahir/Yadav ethnography is therefore only partly inconsistent with Dumont’s

substantialisation thesis. According to Dumont (1970), the substantialisation of caste
was still limited to the political-economic domain of caste and still encompassed by
the religious ideology of hierarchy. Dumont thereby argues that the caste system is
not yet fundamentally changed. 1 2 2 At the ideological level, the Yadav
caste/community has accepted equality both in the religious-kinship domain and
in the economic-political sphere. This process is made possible by a form of
Hinduism which encompasses the functioning of a ‘competitive’ caste system.
The Yadav process of community formation is encompassed by the religious
ideology of descent. It is a substantialised form of Hinduism which today informs
the quasi-ethnic Yadav community. Thus, religious ideology still encompasses the
Yadav community (conceived as a large scale descent group) through sacred
kinship. However, if contemporary Yadavs view themselves as a homogenous
category shaped by primordial sacred origins, their relation with low castes is still
regulated by the language of purity-pollution, both in the private and public
domains. The pollution barrier which divides castes which claim clean origin from
untouchable castes is stronger than ever. This picture displays two contradictory and
at the same time complementary processes. On the one hand we are seeing a
‘transition from structure to substance’ (Dumont 1970: 226) in the sphere of caste.
On the other hand the religious ideology of hierarchy still informs relations between
clean and unclean castes.

The next chapter shows how the homogenisation of Ahir Para Yadavs’
Hindu pantheon mirrors what is happening to the multi-layered structure of the

122 For a summary of similar critiques of Dumont’s syncretic structural model see Fuller
(1996: 1-31).

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clans’ mythological accounts. The unifying myth of Krishna not only tells about
the origins of the entire Yadav community, but it also nullifies the hierarchy and
‘cultural’ differences existing within the community. The clan narratives that
were used as metaphors to express status, and to differentiate each Ahir unit from
the others, are changing their meanings and functions. The encompassing Krishna
tale legitimates the equality of all members and expresses it through the religious
language of descent. Claiming ‘clean’ descent reinforces the boundaries between
Yadavs and castes that cannot claim a ‘clean’ (i.e. non-untouchable) past.

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 Chapter 5
‘Past’ and rhetoric: the political recruitment of
Krishna

Introduction

The previous chapter illustrated how in recent times Ahir Para Yadavs have
begun to conceive Krishna-the-warrior as their lineage deity. The tutelary
function of the god is legitimised by the Mahabharata’s mythological episodes.
The image of Krishna as a god who helps the Yadava prince Aijuna to perform
his martial duty is the most common episode cited by informants. Conceiving the
epic Krishna as a kuldevta is a new trend. Ahir Para Yadavs used to think of their
lineage protectors as minor pastoral hero-deities, like Mekhasur and Krishna-the-
cowherder in Goverdhan Baba’s representation. I explored how this shift is linked
to a gradual but marked adoption of Sanskritised religious practices. This chapter
looks at this complex phenomenon from a different angle and leads the discussion
into the realm of ‘existing politics’.

More precisely it looks at how Ahir Para Yadavs have come to think of
themselves as sons o f Krishna-the-warrior and of the Mahabharata as an
1 9^
historical text which literally describes the ‘History’ of their community. This
process is not disjointed from changes that have occurred in the lineage deities’
cults. On the one hand there has been a gradual passage from the cult of various
lineage gods to the cult of a single community-god, and on the other multiple tales
of origin have merged into a composite story of the Yadavs which is framed by a
reinterpretation of the Sanskritic Mahabharata.

In Chapter 2 I described how during colonial times Yadav ‘historians’

began to compose Yadav historiographies which cumulatively amassed colonial
ethnographies, orientalist literature and Hindu mythical texts like the

123 Throughout the chapter I use the term History capitalised when I talk about ‘western’
forms of doing and understanding history. For a critical study of the category ‘History’
see Nandy (1995); Prakash (1995) and Chakrabarty (1992).

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Mahabharata and the Bhagavad Gita. Central to these narratives were descriptions
of the life and achievements of Krishna. Krishna’s ‘biography’ was generally
divided into three phases: his childhood, youth and adulthood. The following is an
example:

‘The life of Sri Krishna has been unparalleled in history, full of love,
mystic interest, friendliness with all residents in Gokul, Mathura,
Hastinapur and Dwarka, pastoral plays in childhood, psychic powers
and miracles in boyhood, military tactics and philosophical
knowledge in youth...In general, his life may be found to have three
characteristics:
-In infancy he showed miraculous psychic powers.
-In boyhood he played with pure love amidst Gopas and Gopis, and
having killed all the demons and beasts by physical power protected
Yajnas of Rishis from all their dangers and freed the cattle from all
dangers.
-In adult life he used all his yoga skill and military wits to carry the
Bharat war to the success of the Pandavas and preached the Bhagavad
Gita to bring peace over India especially by the culture of
philosophical and yogi temperament of all people which would even
benefit now the whole world’ (Khedkar 1959: 42).

During colonial and early post-independence times, the reconstruction of a Yadav

noble genealogical pedigree was articulated mainly by reshaping Krishna’s adult
life phase, as narrated in the Mahabharata and Bhagavad Gita. The mischievous
Krishna of Braj described in the Puranas was dismissed or reinterpreted. Yadav
caste associations used Krishna-the-warrior both to claim superior ritual status in
the caste system as well as to develop a powerful ethnic discourse (see Chapter 2).
In the last ten years, Krishna-the-warrior has been employed to prove the cultural
‘speciality’ of the Yadav community, the unique genius and martial valour of the
Yadav vansh and the ‘innate’ predisposition of its members to govern in a
democratic setting. The Mahabharata-Krishna figure together with themes and
characters of Ahir regional martial oral epics and Rajput culture have been
reworked into a successful ‘Yadav heritage’ which underpins both the Yadavs’
sense of community and their political interests.

There is a large literature which discusses the powerful role of myth and
history in shaping social identities and political interests. However, remarkably
little attention has been paid to the study of the politics of ‘the past’ in the context
of the process of ethnicisation of caste. Although, Susan Bayly convincingly

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shows how caste has much in common ‘with other complex “invented traditions”,
most notably those of nationhood and ethno-religious community’ (1999: 366),
there are few anthropological explorations which follow such lines of analysis
(see for example Lynch 1969).

Like most ethnic groups, Yadavs justify claims of shared identity by

evoking real or constructed historical evidence, and by so doing they claim a
sense of continuity with the past (Hobsbawm and Ranger 2000). Yadav historians
have created a story which recounts a sense of distinctiveness. The creation of
fictive blood relations with the ancestor-god Krishna and with the valorous and
democratic Yadavas links contemporary Yadavs to the past and binds them to the
present. It is in this way that ‘the past’ is said to assume an importance in ethnic
identity formation (Eriksen 1993).

The powerful ideological force of ‘the past’ (History, myths, epics...) has
been widely explored (Kapferer 1988; Spencer 1990) particularly in the context of
Hindu nationalism (G. Pandey 1990; van der Veer 1994). The past, its conserved
artefacts, remembered personalities and symbols have been increasingly turned
into ‘heritages’ which are used to underpin social, cultural and political groups
(Tunbridge and Ashworth 1996). Despite the diffusion of this phenomenon, the
ways communities’ or nations’ historical narratives are reworked differ according
to the political culture in which they are developed and the audience to which
they are directed. 1 2 4 Different societies view themselves in history in different
ways and accordingly they use history differently to reproduce the social
identities that underpin their political interests. Equally, the debatability and
plausibility of the past’s claims are restricted by socio-cultural codes (Appadurai
1981).

This chapter explores the content of ‘Yadav heritage’ and its force in
creating a Yadav sense of commonality and in politically mobilising the Yadav
electorate. More specifically, it describes how and why the representation of
Krishna as ‘the first democratic leader’, and the portrayal of contemporary

124For anthropological exploration of ‘the past’ in different cultural settings see Errington
(1979); Peel (1984); Morphy and Morthy (1984); Carsten (1995); and Gay y Blasco
(2001), and for India see Skaria (1999).

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Yadavs as ‘naturally apt to govern in a democratic system’ constitutes a powerful
and effective political rhetoric. Hence it explores how these claims are plausible
in the eyes of my informants.

I suggest that in order to understand the powerful role of ‘the past’ in

shaping Ahir Para Yadavs’ sense of community and political interests, it is
essential to take into account how folk theories o f sources o f knowledge inform
the ways local Yadavs link the present to the past (Bloch 1996: 217). In Chapter 4
I showed how the ‘epic’ and ‘historic’ Krishna is more than a divine hero for the
Yadavs of Mathura. He is their ancestor. Yadav rhetoric presents relatedness as
rooted in descent, i.e. in some kind of ‘stuff that people inherit from previous
generations and which makes this generation the same as the previous one and the
same as the next. Each individual is a replacement of his forbears or the vessels in
which the eternal element is given temporary incarnation (cf. Fortes 1953).

This kinship descent model has an elective affinity with a particular way
of conceiving the past and of being in history (see Bloch 1996). According to the
Yadav descent paradigm, people are as they are because they are bom so. The
rhetoric of the Yadav community stresses over and over again how changes in
external circumstances can affect, but not completely alter, ‘the Yadav essence’.
Thus, regardless of the fact that they have had different historical experiences and
therefore different ritual, social and economic statuses, different Yadav
subdivisions are said to have maintained their Yadav quintessence through the
centuries. Headings like ‘Yadavas through the ages’ often introduce Yadavs’
historiographies. In these ‘histories’ blood and transmitted substance figure
prominently if not exclusively in the determination of individual group
membership. Yadav intellectuals emphasise descent to an extreme degree. As
descendants of Krishna, they portray the members of their community as
privileged vessels of a moral and ‘democratic’ knowledge by the very fact of their
ancestry.

In Ahir Para, the idea that being Yadav depends on birth and that physical
traits together with skills are passed in the blood is ‘in the air’. Informants explain
their predisposition to succeed in the political game as ‘innate’. They say that

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‘they learn it in the womb’ (‘pet se sikhte haV) and that they were bom to be
politicians. 1 2 5 They also invoked the ‘womb’ metaphor when they answered my
queries about apprenticeship, especially with regard to issues relating to the cow-
herding profession (e.g. ethno-veterinary practices and a particular sign-language
used by brokers at cattle fairs). How do people leam these practices? No learning
process or apprenticeship training would be mentioned. People looked at me as if
I was a fool and said that they were bom already knowing how to deal with their
herd: ‘we leam it in the womb’.

Ahir Para Yadavs explained their ‘martial’ qualities and their successful
employment in the army and the police in the same fashion. They often proudly
reminded me that even the British recognised them as a ‘martial race’. Fighting
abilities are considered to be hereditary ‘skills’. Even today, local Yadavs are still
actively campaigning for the creation of an Ahir/Y adav regiment. One of the main
arguments in its support relies on Yadavs’ claim to be Kshatriyas, i.e. to belong to
the varna of warriors and kings with a military tradition since time immemorial,
and hence, to be ‘naturally’ predisposed to fight. The Yadav-Kshatriyas are not
only considered to have a predisposition to fight but also to govern. Hence,
informants described to me their ‘political’ ability as a caste-bound activity and/or
related to primordial caste features. Accordingly, the skill of ‘doing politics’ was
passed on ‘in the blood’ from the glorious Yadava ancestors and the god Krishna
to the present Yadavs. Such an understanding of knowledge transmission needs to
be conceptualised within the ideological framework of the caste system, in which
the members of each caste are usually believed to have special aptitude for their
caste occupation and this propensity is thought to be transmitted ‘in the blood’
(Parry 1979: 85). Thus, skills or at least a predisposition to acquire certain skills is
believed to be passed on ‘in the blood’ to the next generation.

125 The word pet here is understood as womb. In northern Indian languages there are
numerous expressions that represent the womb/belly as the container of knowledge and
secrets. Other ethnographies have illustrated how the human embryo is said to be
‘cooked’ - in the woman’s stomach by her ‘digestive fire’ (jatharagni)’ (Parry 1989:
497).
126This type of rhetoric is widely represented in the contemporary Yadav caste literature.
See for example AIYM Mahasabha Souvenir 1924-1999, (1999: 39-59).

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 In the following section I show how a political rhetoric developed by the
AIYM mobilises this implicit folk theory of knowledge transmission by also
portraying ‘democracy’ as a ‘primordial’ political process, which was given to the
mythical Yadavas by their ancestor Krishna. The political system of the ancient
Yadavs is portrayed as ‘democratic’ and ‘republican’. In this sense contemporary
Yadavs are also seen as the heirs of such ‘democratic’ traditions and political
skills.

Accordingly, the composition of a successful ‘Yadav heritage’ is based on

the active reconfiguration of Ahir indigenous folk modes of categorisation based
on patrilineal descent, common stock and a common ethno-historical imagination
centred in Mathura and the Braj-Ahirwal cultural area. The logic of descent (in
terms of locality, sacred kinship and knowledge transmission) is undoubtedly the
most prominent element in the construction of the Yadavs’ complex and
composite heritage.

‘Yadav historians’ are not interested in ‘proving’ the historicity of the kin
relation between the Yadavs and Krishna. According to them this relation is self-
evidently supported by the major Hindu religious texts, such as the Puranas,
Mahabharata and other regional oral epics. The Yadav community is said to be
beyond time and history and Yadavs do not need ‘historical facts’ to believe this.
Thus, Yadav intellectuals devote their efforts to construct through their narratives
a superior Yadav ‘essence’ rather than a Yadav chronological history. This goal is
achieved by selecting and reworking specific qualities and skills of Krishna.
Particular value is given to masculinity, bravery, political skills, morality, abilities
in statecraft, all of which are qualities that contemporary Yadavs are said to have
inherited from their ancestor Krishna-the-warrior. It is at this stage that ‘historical
facts’ and ‘History’ enter Yadav self-histories. ‘History’ is used to prove the truth
and authenticity of particular qualities of Krishna, and hence of contemporary
Yadavs. It is used to dismiss the portrayal of Krishna-the-cowherder and lover
and to consolidate the image of Krishna-the-warrior and with it that of the
contemporary Yadavs.

The ‘Yadav heritage’ is thus centred on the reconfiguration of Krishna’s

achievements and qualities, which are believed to be passed in the blood from one
generation to another. It is in this way that Yadavs are linked to their glorious

22 0
 1

past. Yadav historians selectively appropriate elements from the language of

History and archaeology. The result is a past which, though it clings to traditional
themes and maintains its mythical and religious character, is legitimised and I
would say modernised by the language of history and science. On the whole, ‘the
Yadav heritage’ can be described as a hybrid mix between ‘History’ and
‘mythography’. The idea that history should be scientific and objective has
permeated local understandings of ‘the past’, but this does not mean that local
folk theories of ‘being in the past’ have lost their legitimation. In contrast, they
have been reinforced and modernised by a ‘history’ which is in principle
antithetical to them.

The argument presented in this chapter is discussed in three parts. To

begin with I analyse how the tensions and contradictions between Krishna-the-
cowherder and Krishna-the-warrior, and between Ahir pastoral ‘past(s)’ and the
Yadav Kshatriya ‘past’, are partly resolved in regional martial oral epics. Martial
epics which rethink the Sanskritic Mahabharata (Hiltebeitel 1998,1999) offer an
invaluable set of socio-cultural resources for the development, diffusion and local
assimilation of Yadav ‘histories’ and political rhetoric. Equally, I describe how
the Yadav heroic ‘essence’ is narrated through the elaboration and making of
contemporary Yadav heroes. In the second part I explore how Yadav historians
recuperate Krishna’s masculinity by using ‘historical facts’ and by assimilating
Mathura’s nationalist Hindu narratives in Yadav self-histories. Similarly, I
explore how Yadavs in Ahir Para use ‘archaeological’ evidence to enrich the
multilayered story of their ancestor and hence their past. The last part explores
how the political rhetoric of the AIYM is disseminated in Ahir Para and how this
intertwines with local political and religious culture.

127 ‘The book as its title indicates (The Divine Heritage of the Yadavs) was
intended to expound the greatness of the Yadav race and particularly the
philosophy, deeds and achievements of Lord Sri Krishna which constitute
the most valuable part of their heritage - a heritage which the rest of the
nation is proud to share with them’ (Khedkar 1959: VI).

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The making of a Yadav past

Regional martial epics, the tradition of martial folk cults and the
Mahabharata: from Ahir to Yadav

Throughout my fieldwork whenever I met a member of the Yadav community,

whether he/she was a social activist, politician, housewife or milk-seller, in the
first two minutes of our conversation he/she would invariably come up with one
of the following statements: ‘Krishna was a Yadav ‘Our caste is the caste o f
K r is h n a ‘ We descendfrom Krishna-Vasudev\ In a similar fashion, Yadav social
and political activists often use the term ‘Krishna* as synonymous with ‘Yadav*.
Most of the community halls (Bhavans) and hostels built with the Yadavs’
financial contributions are named Krishna Bhavan, Krishna Daramshala, Krishna
Hostel (and not Yadav Bhavan, Yadav Daramshala or Yadav Hostel). Charitable
Trusts and caste publications similarly employ the name of the Yadav ancestor,
for instance: Krishna Trust, Krishnayana, Krishna Sakha and Sri Krishna Bureau.
The importance of the ‘Krishna-Yadav’ link is reflected not only in the
conversations of my Yadav informants and in the activities organised by their
intelligentsia, but also in the conversations and thoughts of people belonging to
other communities. One of the jokes which circulated in Mathura during the 1999
Lok Sabha election campaign illustrated this point well:

‘A man is trying to persuade Krishnaji to contest the elections by

telling him that he is the most fit person to contest ...after all you are
a Yadav. Krishnaji answered: ‘I am a god and I do not belong to any
particular jati*. The man replied: ‘Sir, even god would not be able to
succeed in the present political situation. At least try to maintain your
caste!’

The relation between Yadavs and Krishna-the warrior-politician is, therefore, well
established. But what kind of tales has the Krishna story substituted; and why did
it do so successfully? I suggest that the answer to these questions should be
sought in the link between local martial oral epics and the Mahabharata. Long
afternoons spent at the Mahadev Ghat taught me that for the oldest generations,
and therefore presumably for the previous ones as well, Krishna’s tale was
secondary in importance to the tales which focused on the lives of local Ahir-

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Rajput hero-gods and kings. However, they also taught me that the Ahir/Yadavs’
local heroic tales were implicitly linked to Krishna-the-warrior and to the story of
the Mahabharata and hence to ‘the past’ diffused by Yadav caste associations and
politicians. I suggest that regional martial oral epics constituted a pathway
between local Ahir/Yadav subcaste/lineage ‘pasts’ and the composite ‘Yadav
heritage’. In Mathura, Yadav hybrid mythical-historical tales hang on available
ideals and themes. These available cultural resources make the takes of Yadav
1 ^ 0

‘historians’ plausible in the eyes of Ahir Para Yadavs as well as non-Yadavs.

Thus, Yadav ‘historians’ re-shape the history of their community rather than
inventing it. What they do is to render more explicit existing links between
Yadavs, Rajput culture and Krishna-the-warrior.

In the previous chapter I described the cult of the hero-god Mekhasur and
I outlined how the traditional Ahir/Y adav pantheon and cosmology were
traditionally linked, and to some extent still are, to the Ahir royal/pastoral
heritage. The foundation myths of the various Ahir lineage deities are often
associated with Ahir royal dynasties of ‘cowherder kings’ and indirectly to
Krishna. Thus, these local stories fuse ‘pastoral’ and Kshatriya themes and
overlap the image and personalities of Krishna-the-cowherder and Krishna-the-
warrior.

Regional epics which are not strictly associated with the spread of a
religious cult (as in the case of Mekhasur) also depict the deeds and gestures of
Ahir pastoral martial heroes who were also incarnations of the Krishna of the
Mahabharata. A number of Ahir Para Yadavs perceive these epics as their
regional ‘histories’. According to Mathura Yadavs, Ahir/Yadavs are the
protagonists of two famous regional martial oral epics: the epic of Alha and Udal
and of Lorik. Older Ahir Para Yadav informants often suggested I read these
epics in order to understand their past. These epics tell the story of heroic Ahirs
and of the manly and brave character of their community.

The Lorik tradition is well diffused in northern India and it is not

associated with the spread of a religious cult. In the Awadhi - and Bhojpuri -

128 On the relation between epics and community self-identity see Blackburn, Claus,
Flueckinger and Wadley (1989: 5-7) and Richman (1991: 12-14).

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speaking areas of Uttar Pradesh, the Ahir/Y adavs are both the primary performers
and audience of the epic. The Lorik epic has been widely studied by scholars of
folklore who all seem to agree that there is a strict relation between the epic and
the cowherding Ahir caste cluster. For centuries it has been at the heart of the
popular cultural milieu of the Ahir/Y adav caste in the Gangetic plains

This epic is popular in eastern Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and Madhya Pradesh.
Although western Uttar Pradesh is peripheral to the epic’s area of diffusion, I
found that amongst a relevant number of my eldest informants it was well-known.
They explained their knowledge by pointing out that the origins of Ahir Para
Yadavs were in Kannauj, in central Uttar Pradesh. Although only a few people
told me that they had actually witnessed a performance of the epic during their
childhood, most of them knew the story of Lorik through narratives that their
parents and grandparents had told them. Finally, even if some were not able to
narrate the epic themselves, most knew in a general sense that it was about the
history and the martial qualities of their caste. Elder Ahir/Y adavs perceive the
Lorik epic as one of the oldest accounts of their caste group. Its performance is
strictly a male affair and is evidently a portrayal of the valour and martial heroism
of the Ahirs. Its hero is a protector of caste honour (izzat), and he is protected by
Durga and by divine intervention. In a Bihari version, Lorik is also an incarnation
of Krishna (Archer 1947). The model of Krishna is therefore present in the Lorik
epic, first as a lover and then as a warrior.

Flueckinger (1989) analyses how the epic is told by two Ahir/Y adav
communities, one located in Uttar Pradesh and the other in Chhattisgarh. She
highlights how the Ahir/Yadavs of Uttar Pradesh emphasise its martial themes,
while Ahir/Yadavs from Chhattisgarh emphasise its romantic themes. In eastern
U.P. ‘... the Ahirs have seen themselves as the local warrior caste and continue to
promote this image of themselves’ and accordingly she suggests that their
‘.. .“kshatriya-isation” movement may have originated and gained momentum in
U.P. partly because the Ahirs already had an image of themselves as a martial
caste’ (1989: 41). This seemed not to be case for the Ahirs from Chhattisgarh
whose version of the Lorik epic emphasises romantic themes rather than martial
ones. Thus martial oral epics are extremely important in the construction of a
Yadav martial and masculine caste/community image. Yadav ‘historians’

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recognise the importance of this idiom and in their literature they include articles
on the legends of Lorik and on virahs (songs of separation). Here the legend of
Lorik is viewed as part of the cultural heritage of the Yadavs and as such needs to
be preserved: ‘The songs of Lorik are getting lost in the dark’ (R.L. Yadav 1999:
71-72). In these stories, Lorik is portrayed as an incarnation of the epic Krishna.

Yadav caste publications point out how Yadavs are also famous on
account of the exploits of their heroes Alha and Udal who belong to this
community, and who fought Pritviraj, the king of Delhi. The exploits of Alha and
Udal form the themes of poems still well known and popular in Uttar Pradesh..
(for example see Yadav Sansar, February 1981: 25). Older informants in Mathura
know the story or at least a number of its episodes. What they know is that Alha
and Udal were two brave Yadavs and powerful wrestlers. Alha is often described
as an incarnation of Balram, the brother of Krishna, and Udal as an incarnation of
Krishna. The wrestling ground of the Mahadev Ghat is said to be used in the night
by Adal and Udal. Wrestling holds a special place in the Yadavs’ ethos. Wrestling
for them is not only a sport but a way of life and shakti and bal are values and
ideals associated with it.

Ahir Para Yadavs’ traditions are, therefore, dominated by heroes who

were incarnations of Krishna and who were related to the Sanskritic Mahabharata.
In this regard my findings are in line with the recent work of Hiltebeitel (1999) on
the relation between regional martial oral epics, Rajput culture and the
Mahabharata Sanskritic epic. Following Kolff (1990), Hiltebeitel (1999,2001)
insists that prior to the ‘new Rajput Great Tradition’ of sixteenth-century
Rajasthan, there was ‘an older, lower status medieval Rajput culture’ (1999: 3)
that has been passed down through generations by regional martial epics.
According to Hiltebeitel, ‘regional martial oral epics are a distinctive genre within
the larger class of India’s oral epics. They are all formed in the same unsettled
medieval period (twelfth to fifteenth centuries). They all make similar linkages
between regionality, the peripherality of Tittle kingdoms’, land, land dominant
castes and the goddess of the land’ (1999: 6 ). All these features are usually
present in popular versions of the Mahabharata and more importantly, ‘in each,
central characters are reincarnated heroes and heroines’ (1999: 7) of the Sanskrit

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Mahabharata. These epics, in particular Alha, rethink the classical pan-Indian
Mahabharata (Hiltebeitel 1999: 2).

The understanding of the relations between vernacular oral epics and

Sanskritic epics as a continuum rather than as an opposition (Roghair 1982 and
Smith 1991) sheds light on how local Ahir lineages’ tales have been so easily
absorbed into the Sanskritic Mahabharata story sponsored by Yadav ‘historians’,
and why Krishna-the-cowherder has been gradually substituted with the epic
Krishna. Local oral epics provide, therefore, a mediating tale between ‘traditional’
Ahir pastoral identity linked to Krishna-the-cowherder-lover and the ‘modem’
Yadav Kshatriya identity associated with Krishna-the-warrior. This implicit link
allows Yadav ‘historians’ to portray the Mahabharata as the ‘History’ of all-India
Yadavs, and to make this claim plausible in the eyes of the ordinary Yadavs.

The building up of an all-India Yadav ‘history’ implies the amalgamation

of the ‘pasts’ of local and regional pastoral castes (e.g. Ahir, Goalla, Gopa, Konar,
Kuruba...) into a single composite tale. Local hero-gods like Mekhasur and
heroic Ahirs like Alha and Udal and Lorik (linked respectively with hero and
lineage cults in a particular geographical area (Braj) and with the Ahirs’ sense of
past in a particular region (Gangetic plains)) are absorbed into the story of
Krishna of the pan-Indian Mahabharata. In a similar way KonarATadavs from the
South are linked to martial oral epics which rethink the Mahabharata (see
Sontheimer 1993 and Roghair 1982). Hiltebeitel (1999) draws attention to the
links between northern and southern martial oral epics. I suggest that the
continuity of the pastoral-Kshatriya themes from North to South, expressed by
regional oral epics which rethink the classical Mahabharata, offers an
extraordinary path for an elaboration of an all-India Yadav heritage and hence an
all-India Yadav community. This homogenous set of cultural resources provides
‘Yadav historians’ with the framework for the constmction of a past which unites
regional Yadav clusters with different but complementary pasts. Importantly, this
composite heritage maintains the deep social and religious meanings entrenched
in the martial oral epics.

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Contemporary martial heroes’ tales

So far I have shown how hero-god cults and regional martial oral epics are central
to Yadav religious culture and to Yadavs’ ‘way of being’ in history and contribute
to their warrior-like popular image. Yadav intellectuals also used these cultural
resources to portray contemporary Yadavs as a caste traditionally committed to
fighting for ‘freedom’ and to protecting the ‘weaker’ people against injustices.

In recent times historical figures like Rao Tula Ram, Rao Gopal Deo and
Veeran Alagamuthu Kone (Yadav) have been portrayed by the Yadav caste
literature and in the political speeches of Yadav politicians as modem Yadav
heroes who combated ‘British imperialism’ in the same way that ‘Krishna’ fought
against ‘the imperialist Kamsa’, and Adal and Udal fought against their enemies
from the kingdom of Mahoba. The deeds of these modem epic Yadav heroes
cover the North and South of India and provide evidence for the existence of a
culturally united all-India Yadav community.

Rao Tula Ram (1825-1863) and Rao Gopal Deo are both members of the
former Royal family of Rewari and are said to have valorously fought against the
British during the 1857 Mutiny. The following are extracts from popular Yadav
caste literature which show how the two men are rhetorically described as the
Heroes of 1857.

‘Rao Tula Ram (1825-1863), a scion of the historic ruling house of

Rewari (Haryana), is one of the greatest freedom fighters of India. He
not only obliterated all vestiges of British rule from Ahirwal but also
helped the revolutionaries do this work elsewhere too, in Delhi,
Rajasthan, in Madhya Pradesh and so forth. The story of this great son
of Ahirwal is that of heroism, valour, patriotism and self-sacrifice of
the great order. With four to five thousand Ahirs, Jats, Rajputs and
Ranghars he struggled hard against the superior British forces in
1857...He was the first Indian to plan to overthrow British
imperialism...’ (AIYM, Platinum Jubilee Year Souvenir, 1999: 20,
Originally in English).

K.C. Yadav (1966) was the first ‘Yadav historian’ to write about Rao Tula Ram.
He was patronised by Rao Tula Ram’s great grandson, Rao Birendra Singh. ‘Rao
Sahib’ as he is commonly called, was chief minister of Haryana in the late 1960s
and then Union Cabinet Minister for Agriculture. Many believed he constructed

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his political career on the basis of the legend of his famous ancestor’s legend.
Each year on 28 September, his birthday, commemorative ceremonies are held in
Rewari and Delhi. A statue of the hero has recently been installed in Rewari town
and another in a suburban Delhi area. In 1998 a revised edition of K.C. Yadav’s
book on Rao Tula Ram was published. The book was presented to the public by
Mulayam Singh Yadav during a commemorative ceremony dedicated to the ‘hero
of 1857’.

Rao Tula Ram’s story is contested at the local level by Rao Bijender Singh
who is the great-great-grandson of Rao Gopal Dev. Rao Gopal Dev was the
cousin and contemporary of the late Rao Tula Ram. A book about the history of
the hero is in preparation; while articles about his valorous deeds have already
appeared in local Yadav caste publications in the last five years. Rao Bijender
Singh is the promoter of Rao Gopal Dev’s heroic myth. He claims that the story
of Rao Tula Ram as represented by K.C. Yadav and his patron Rao Birendra
Singh is false and misleading. In his version Rao Gopal Dev is the ‘real’ hero of
1857 and not Rao Tula Ram. Moreover, he contests the legitimacy of Rao
Birendra Singh’s claim to be the heir of the former royal family. He alleges that
Rao Birendra Singh was adopted, and hence was not the ‘genuine’ heir of the
little Ahirwal kingdom. However tense and controversial these contested histories
are at the local level, they do not affect the unity of the AIYM rhetoric at the
national level. The Mahasabha uses the example of both of the Rewari heroes to
portray the bravery and courage of contemporary Yadavs, and hence to contribute
to the creation of a ‘Yadav’ martial and political ‘essence’.

‘Rao Gopal Dev was a scion of the ruling house of Rewari. He was
cousin of Rao Tula Ram, and general officer commanding of the
forces that finished all vestiges of the Feringhee rule from Ahirwal in
1857 and kept the fire of revolt burning everywhere around Delhi for
a pretty long time. Rao Gopal Dev was a brave soldier, far-sighted
military commander and a gifted leader of men in adversity. He was a
great patriot who sacrificed all that he had his raj, property and
comfort, so that others could live free, secure and safe’ (AIYM
Platinum Jubilee Year Souvenir, 1999: 21, Originally in English).

More recently, the Mahasabha is promoting the publication of a book on ‘the

martyr’ Veeran Alagamuthu Kone (Yadav). He is described as the first Tamilian
‘to raise the banner of the revolt against the British in 1759’. J.N. Singh Yadav

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the ‘historian’ who is now working on the book, told me that he collected much
historical evidence to reconstruct the deeds of this south Indian Yadav hero.

‘...‘Vamsamani Teepigai’ a time honoured historic document and the

palm-leaf manuscripts found in Kattalangulam near Kalugumalai, the
second capital of the then Usasi kingdom, speak volumes for the
historic war of Indian Independence waged by Veeran Alagumuthu
against the British Imperialism in Pethanayakanur. Veeran
Alagumuthu was a brave warrior, a prophetic captain and an ardent
patriot. His blood boiled when the British imperialists tried to bring
the Indian kingdoms under their yoke. He made his supreme sacrifice
in defence of his motherland.. .he was the embodiment of courage and
the very incarnation of patriotic fervour. This industrious son was
bom in Madurai...he was the first leader to start the Yadava
movement’ (J.N. Singh Yadav: 1996, Originally in English).

The Tamil Nadu government holds an annual function on the hero’s birthday; a
bronze statue which will be installed in Madras, is currently in preparation. 1 2 9

The heroic and martial qualities of Yadavs are further proved by the
portrayal of other famous Yadavs who died in defence of their community or their
country. For instance, Trikoli Das (Yadav) the hero of the 1925 Lakho Chack
incident is often remembered and commemorated in Yadav journals as well as at
Yadav caste meetings. The so-called Lakho Chack episode saw a violent clash
between Bhumihars and Yadavs in the district of Monghyr in Bihar. The hero of
‘the battle’ has been renamed Sher-e-Dil (lion hearted).

A large number of Ahir Para Yadavs knew about this episode and its
heroic protagonist. They use his story to emphasise the bravery and strength of
their community and their commitment to combating ‘social evils’. Archival
records extensively report the tension between Ahir-Goallas claiming Yadav-
Kshatriya identity and the landed elite who felt challenged by the new emerging
caste/community. The Lakho Chack incident is documented by various police
reports. 1 3 0 In addition, Pinch (1996: 121) extensively analysed the event. It is
described as an example of the assertiveness of the Yadav caste community
identity. This event, which is part of the ‘Historical’ formation of the community,

129Personal communication/N.S. Yadav/ 10 December 2001.

130 NAI, Home Dept. Police, 1925, 8/IV/25 and see The Englishman, Serious riots in
Bihar, Police overpowered by big mob, 6 June 1925.

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has therefore been successfully appropriated by Yadav caste ‘historians’ who use
it to prove first the success of the community and secondly the heroic nature and
bravery of the caste members. Although their accounts are in line with the
‘official’ story, they are narrated in fabulous and epic fashion. The clash between
the Ahir/Yadavs and the Bhumihars is described as an epic battle. The Bhumihars
are said to have arrived in the village led by the zamindar of Rampur, Prasad
Narain Singh. This aristocratic figure, riding an elephant, led seven thousand men
against a few hundred Yadavs. In the official accounts the Bhumihars are said to
number three thousand. In addition there is no mention of the participation of the
zamindar, nor of the elephant, or of the fact that the zamindar had to pay sixteen
thousand rupees to the collector of the district as a penalty for attacking the
village.

Central to the myth-making of Sher-e-Dil (lion hearted) is that he is the

only Yadav who died in the incident. He is described as a brave and strong Yadav
101

with a big (heavy) heart. Locally, the heart/liver (dil/kaleja) is conceptualised

as the organ in which power and strength are kept. Sher-e-Dil was a wrestler. He
is said to have killed many tigers and defended his community, under attack from
the Bhumihars, like a lion. Ten years ago a school was established in his honour.
A viraha song about the hero is said to have been composed, as well and a small
shrine established. 1 3 2 Sher-e-Dil’s story illustrates a process whereby a living
individual becomes a glorified and deified Yadav.

In a similar way, Yadav war martyrs are celebrated and deified. Articles
and ceremonies which commemorate the bravery of Yadav soldiers who lost their
lives in the India-Pakistan and India-China post-independence conflicts, and more
recently in the Kargil conflict, are central to Yadav caste rhetoric (see Plate 8 ).
One of the episodes of the Indo-China war in 1962 is commonly described as the
‘epic battle of Rezang-La’.

131 The heart/liver is understood to be the organ in the body where power and strength are

kept. Emphasising the size of the hero’s heart means to praise the hero’s superhuman
powers. For an analysis of the process of formation of new Bir Babas in Benares, see
Coccari (1989: 261).
132 Personal communication/B.L. Singh Yadav/26 December 1999.

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 ‘By any test, every man of C Company who fought and died at
Rezang La was a hero.. .the battle that the company fought was indeed
great. It was a battle that will be remembered by future generations of
Chinese as well as Indians. The Chinese will remember it for the
incredible heroism they saw; the Indians will have every reason to be
proud of the brave Indian jawans who preferred to die fighting than
surrender even an inch of the sacred soil of their motherland. Already,
in the countryside of Haryana, men and women sing heart-warming
songs in praise of the heroes of Rezang La’ (anonymous writer,
Originally in English).

As mentioned in Chapter 2, Ahir/Y adavs depict themselves as ‘soldiers by birth’.

The stories published in the Yadav caste literature, as well as the episodes
repeated again and again at caste meetings, emphasise how the Yadavs ‘are
soldiers by birth and as a consequence were present in the army of the ancient
Kings, of the Mahabharata; with the British and against the British and finally in
the army of their country.’ Contemporary Yadavs also view a number of their
charismatic political leaders as perpetuators of a long tradition of Ahir/Y adav
heroism. They view Mulayam Singh Yadav and Laloo Prasad Yadav as heroic
Robin Hoods and ‘incarnations’ of Krishna who steal from the rich to give to the
poor and to ‘ordinary’ people. In the eyes of informants they have heroic status
because they fight against the enemies of their community and for the
community’s social well-being. Thus, Yadav heroes can be Rajas, freedom
fighters, soldiers and ‘democratic’ politicians. They all share Krishna’s
predisposition to fight and ‘do politics’. Heroes and politicians can therefore have
divine attributes (see Price 1989).

‘History’ and ‘Mathura Hindu histories’: recuperating Krishna’s

moral integrity and masculinity

Yadav informants told me a substantial number of times that their ancestor

Krishna was not Tike Bill Clinton’. With this statement they referred to the sexual
scandal of the former American president, which was heavily reported in the
media for a long period of my fieldwork. This metaphor was used to undermine

232
the portrayal of Krishna as the lover of thousands of cowherders. Similarly, the
Puranas which illustrate Krishna’s mischievous pastoral youth were considered as
false and as legends. Conversely, the Mahabharata and Bhagavad-Gita which
describe Krishna-the-warrior were portrayed as true ‘Histories’. In particular, it
was the Bhagavad Gita which was widely conceived as the ‘book of the Yadavs’
spoken directly from the mouth of Krishna. In the following sections I describe
the making of Krishna the Yadav icon and how this symbolic figure intertwines
with Hindu nationalist ideologies and with the use of ‘History’.

Yadav ‘historians’ and their ‘historical archives’

If the number of Yadav caste publications is astonishingly large, so is the number

of ‘Yadav historians’. This broad category is formed by retired academics,
teachers and civil servants who write for the Yadav cause and view their work as
a mission to propagate the message of Krishna and the achievements and great
qualities of his Yadav sons. Their mission is to recuperate Krishna’s moral
integrity and political skills through ‘History’. This section explores how the
idioms of ‘History’ and archaeology are used by Yadav intellectuals in Delhi and
in Mathura. In addition it illustrates how ordinary Yadavs in Ahir Para use these
idioms to assert their glorious past and to imbibe their narrative with an aura of
‘modernity’. I begin this investigation by exploring Yadav historians’ personal
archives. Their libraries and filing-cabinets say a lot about the ways they construct
‘the past’ of their community and how they view themselves in the present.

D. Nagendhiran (Yadav) is the current president of the AIYM. He was

appointed in December 1999. He is 58 years old. He is the first ‘South Yadav’ to
occupy such a prestigious position. He worked in the government administration
of his home state, Tamil Nadu, for forty years. Now he has decided to dedicate his
life to the ‘Yadav cause’ and ‘the social justice crusade’. He says that now he is ‘a
full-time servant’ of the Yadav community and this also means reconstructing the
‘Yadav heritage’ and diffusing it amongst Yadavs from the North to the South of
the country.

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 During an interview, Nagendhiran proudly showed me the content of his
personal ‘archive’ which mainly contained newspaper clippings and academic
books which describe the martial qualities of the Yadavas and of their famous
ancestor Krishna, as well as the historical reliability of the Mahabharata. ‘Warrior
1^
roots: scholars claim Shivaji was not Rajput but a Hoysala Yadava’; ‘Science
and legend merge in Dwarka’ ; 1 3 4 ‘Dwarka’s past powerfully influencing the
present’; and then ‘Somanatha temple, its history and sanctity’. These are the
headings of a number of articles collected in Nagendhiran Singh’s archive. They
have been filed because they attempt to prove that the Mahabharata is a ‘true’
story. They describe how since the 1980s archaeologists and scientists have been
trying to determine where the ancient town of Dwarka was located.

In recent years archaeological excavations have been performed at sites

described in the Mahabharata and Ramayana (van der Veer 1994: 144-145).
‘Yadav historians’ closely follow these research projects and update their files
with new ‘evidence’ which proves the historicity of Krishna and the Mahabharata
‘to foreigners and non-believers’ (N.S. Yadav, 65 years old, Yadav activist).
These data are added to the historical evidence which Yadav ‘historians’ have
been collecting since the beginning of the century. For instance:

‘An inscription engraved 3730 years after the Bhara war i.e. about 600
A.D. in Siva temple at Ibhalli in Dharvad clearly refers to the battle of
Kurukshetra (see Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal Vol. IV pp.
376/7; Vol. V p. 725; VI. p. 8 8 . Journal of Royal Asiatic S. New
series 185 b. Vol. I Part 2. p. 273)’ (quoted in Khedkar 1959: 52).

Nagendhiran ’s personal archive does not differ from the many ‘private
collections’ I had the opportunity to explore during fieldwork. Dr J.N. Singh
Yadav graduated with an M.A. in Political Science from Punjab University,
Chandigarh and obtained his Ph.D. from Kurukshetra University. He is 60 years
old and comes from a village in the district of Mahendragarh (Haryana). In 1992
he published two volumes entitled Yadavas Through the Ages. The books were
presented at the Madras Yadav caste meeting 1994 by Mulayam Singh Yadav. In

133 The Week, 21 October 2001.

134 Hindu, 31 October 1998.
135 Hindu, 2 November 1995.

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an interview, Dr J.N. Singh Yadav said that throughout his childhood he was
eager to know more about the origin and history of the Yadavs, but when he
wished to know more about ‘the Yadav race’ he could not find reliable works.

‘.. .1 was disappointed not to find much material about the Yadavas in
the books...the Yadavas were not lucky enough to find some good
scribes to record testimony of their valour and historic achievements.
While the Rajputs had Col. Tod, the Marathas Grant-Duff, the Sikhs
Cunningham and even the Jats had K.R. Kanungo, the Yadavas had
none. The All India Yadava Mahasabha approached Rajbali Pandey to
write the history of the Yadavas, who miserably failed
them...Majority of the historians held false notions about this caste.
Some scholars relying upon some puranic descriptions held the view
that ‘all the Yadavas perished in the fratricidal war at Dwarka’, and
hence there survived no Yadavas. It is a great fallacy Mid the
historians have always misguided and misrepresented this wrong
notion...The present study is a humble effort to sweep these
misnomers and false notions’ (1992: IX-X).

J.N. Singh Yadav’s position is widely shared by his colleagues who view their
work as a mission to establish a ‘true’ Yadav story. Yadav ‘historians’ archives
are very similar both in the way they are organised and in terms of their content.
Their book collections usually contain the most established Yadav books
published in the last one hundred years: AbhirKul Dipika, n.d., (The
Enlightenment of the Abhir Clan); Ahir Itihas Ki Jhalak, 1915 (A Glimpse into
the History of the Ahirs); Jatiya Sandesh, 1921 (Jati Message), The Divine
Heritage o f the Yadavs, 1959; A List o f Rules o f Yadav Jati, 1928; Yaduvans Ka
Itihas, 1969 (History of the Yaduvansh); Yadavs through the Ages, 1992 and
Yadav Itihas, 1997 (History of the Yadavs). Often, located close to the caste
literature are colonial district gazetteers and files containing photocopies of
sections of the census in which Yadavs are mentioned. The book of the Indian
sociologist M.S.A. Rao (1979) and the historian O.P. Verma (1979) are also often
found in Yadav historians’ libraries. Then there is the Bhagavad Gita, the
Mahabharata and local vernacular copies of the martial epic of Alha and Udal and
of Lorik. And then there are recent biographies of modem Yadav leaders like
Mulayam Singh Yadav and Laloo Prasad Yadav. Newspaper and magazine
clippings about ‘Yadavs’ are also collected (Ashrafi 1994; R.S. Yadav 1998; K.C.
Yadav 2001).

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 In order to collect material for their articles and books, a number of Yadav
‘historians’ regularly visit the Nehru Memorial library in Delhi. Whenever I
casually met them there, they seemed extremely pleased to see that finally I was
doing ‘real’ research, i.e. ‘historical research’ rather than ‘participant
observation’. Informants never really grasped why I was collecting ethnographic
data given the fact that there was already so much literature and documentation on
the Yadavs and Krishna that needed to be explored. ‘Written material’ in their
eyes was authentic, ‘true’ and ‘historical’ . 1 3 6

The importance of adopting a historical approach to the composition of

Yadav narratives is explicitly emphasised by the AIYM agenda. The AIYM
demands Yadav ‘historians’ to be accurate in their methodology, i.e. to prove
their stories with ‘historical facts’. In 1998, the following guidelines were sent by
the central AIYM committee to the Mahasabha’s state branches. The occasion
was the plan of a book about Yadav history and culture.

‘Please take note of the following points while doing the write-up:
- The write-up has got to be brief and to the point; authentic and
objective.
- As far as possible, the mythological stories and traditions should be
made use of only when some historical evidence supports them
directly or indirectly’ (Internal circular, 1998, Originally in English).

The use of terms such as ‘authentic’, ‘objective’ and ‘historical evidence’ express
the need for ‘Yadav historians’ to provide ‘histories’ of their communities which
are not contestable and that fit with the methodological demands of ‘professional
history’. The need to historically prove a mythological event is not only confined
to Yadav intellectuals in Delhi. ‘Yadav historians’ in Mathura have the same
concern.

S.P.S. Yadav is the editor of Yaduvani, a newsletter published in Mathura-

Vrindavan since 1968. He is in his seventies and he used to be an English teacher
at Mathura K.C. College. Yaduvani is printed at a Yadav printing press in Sadar
Bazaar. Between 2,000 and 2,500 copies per month are printed and then sent by

136 For a discussion of the effects of printing technology and literacy material in India see

Parry (1985); van der Veer (1994: 79); Burghart (1996: 96).

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mail to their subscribers. When in December 1999 I subscribed to the journal (at
the cost of Rs. 100 per year) I was the eight hundredth new subscriber of that
year. S.P.S. Yadav said that he was pleased with the performance of his journal.
Most of its subscribers are from Mathura and the Braj area. S.P.S. Yadav said that
he does not find it difficult to find articles for each monthly publication. He said
that he regularly receives at least twenty pieces of work a month. Apparently, he
has a hard time choosing what to publish. When I asked which criteria he used to
select the papers, he said that he privileges objective writings. What he attempts
to do is to publish ‘histories’ and not ‘legends’. At the same time he privileges
histories which diffuse the message of Krishna and of the Bhagavad-Gita.

The preoccupation with ‘History’ is not only confined to Yadav

‘historians’. To a certain extent it also concerns ordinary people, i.e. the readers of
Yadav self-historiographies. Ahir Para Yadavs endlessly referred me to ‘books’
and ‘historical sites’ which in their eyes proved their tales of origin and the
achievements and quality of their ancestor. What they considered to be the
‘History’ of the Yadavs par excellence was the Mahabharata and in particular the
Bhagavad Gita. Many emphasised how these were ‘true’ histories and how in
recent times archaeological findings had proved their ‘historical’ validity. In Ahir
Para, archaeological debates are a common and popular topic of conversation.
This is partly because the Krishnajanmabhumi issue, and the debates that
surround it, have entered the public arena. In this regard, the role of the media is
particularly influential.

Table 5.1 shows that on average Sadar Bazaar residents are highly
exposed to different types of media. The majority of all caste/communities said
that they either read a newspaper or watched television.

Table 5.1: Media exposure by caste-community, Sadar Bazaar

Newspaper Radio TV Cable TV Number
Brahman 96% 39% 93% 71% 28
Bania 96% 25% 96% 81% 28
Other upper caste 74% 47% 89% 6 8 % 19
Yadav 89% 33% 89% 67% 65
Other OBC 80% 50% 90% 70% 1 0

SC 50% 36% 8 6 % 48% 2 2

Muslim 54% 44% 80% 44% 41

Other 56% 1 1 % 78% 75% 9
Total 77% 36% 8 8 % 64% 2 2 2

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Source: Mathura Survey
Notes: Table entries based on all respondents (no information was recorded for 3 cases). Table
entries refer to the percentage of respondents who said they either read, watched or listened to the
relevant media.

Countless times informants said ‘I read it in the newspaper’ or ‘I saw it on TV’ to

support their claim. They used the media as a source to ‘prove’ that eating meat
leads to blindness; that the offspring of inbred unions were physically unfit; that
cow milk has almost miraculous nutritive properties; and that Krishna was bom in
Mathura and was a great political leader.

Thus, the ‘historical’ claims put forward by the Sangh Parivar in an

attempt to prove that the Shahi mosque is constmcted on the site of Krishna’s
birthplace offers local Yadav informants a repertoire of ‘historical’ facts to enrich
their narratives of the past. In the same way that Yadav ‘historians’ collect
clippings from magazines and books about the historicity of the Mahabharata and
Krishna, Ahir Para Yadavs cite ‘historical evidence’ that they have either read in
local newspapers or come to know about from ‘town rumours’. From my arrival
in Mathura, informants advised me to go to the Mathura museum. They said that
it was the place to go for a scholar and in particular for someone who was
interested in the Yadavs’ history and culture. I was told that archaeological
evidence ‘about Krishna’ was kept and ‘researched’ there. A number of
informants told me that scholars ‘from Delhi’ had found ‘scientific’ evidence
which proved that the Shahi mosque was built over Krishna’s birthplace. Such
‘historical’ evidence was used in conversation by informants not to support the
validity of the Sangh Parivar’s claims, but as a further ‘scientific evidence’ of
their unique past.

As a matter of fact people in Sadar Bazaar strongly criticised the

Krishnajanmabhumi's liberation movement. Overall, 84 per cent of Sadar Bazaar
residents said that it was not justified to pull down the Shahi mosque (Mathura
Survey, 1999). There were some Yadavs who were strongly against the pulling
down of the Babri Masjid in Ayodhya, but were at the same time sympathetic
towards the liberation of Krishna’s birthplace. This was mainly because they
attach stronger ‘feelings’ towards Krishna, their ancestor, than to Ram. This
approach was not, however, very widespread.

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 Instead, what is common is the incorporation of Hindu nationalist themes
in the local Yadav narratives. This is done explicitly by the MYS, whose
newsletters and caste literature are partly based on the portrayal of Krishna and
Mathura found in the pilgrimage literature and Hindu nationalist pamphlets. The
Hindu nationalist rhetoric which informs these texts portrays Krishna as a
historical person and his native place, Mathura, as a historical birthplace. For the
Hindu nationalists, Krishna is an ancestor physically present in a historical past.
He was bom at a certain time and in a specific place, which is now ‘illegally’
occupied by a Muslim mosque. Hindu rhetoric privileges Krishna the charioteer,
the warrior and the saviour over Krishna the ambiguous lover.

‘Once the property comes in the ownership of Hindus, we will build a

very huge monument of Sri Krishna at the place, which will be the
centre of the whole world from where the preaching of the Geeta will
be spread for the betterment of the world’ (Maharaj Saini, 30 years
old, VHP activist).

When Hindu activists invoke the figure of Krishna, it is usually the Krishna of the
Bhagavad Gita. ‘Krishna as the god of erotically mystical love, has virtually
disappeared from the public sphere of reformed Hinduism...’ (Lutt 1995: 152). In
modem Hinduism there has been a shift of emphasis from Krishna to Ram. Ram
who was the king of Ayodhya is the hero of the Ramayana. For most Hindus Ram
is the model of a just and righteous king (Fuller 1992: 33). He is the hero that
never departed from the required code of conduct. He is an ideal son, perfect
brother, righteous husband and ideal king. Consequently, ‘Rama is the Hindu God
most amenable to utopian projects, for in the epic Ramayana he created the state
regime (rajya) that most completely instantiated dharma on the earth, Rama
Rajya’ (Davis 1996: 34-35). In contrast, ‘Krishna is sensuous, soft and gentle but
his love cannot be counted upon, he is incalculable, polygamous and adulterous.
His worshippers languish for him, they lose control of themselves.. .’(Lutt 1995:
143).

In recent years the Ayodhya janmabhumi issue has remodelled Ram as a

symbol for demarcating geographic, territorial and spiritual boundaries. He has
been transformed into a ‘militant’ god (Kapur 1993). The new images depict him
in an aggressive posture, striding forward with a bow ready for combat. He is
heavily armed, ugra (angry), ready for a war, with a muscular body. In short he

239
represents a virile Hinduism. The same process is visible in recent narrative and
iconographic portrayals of Krishna. Krishna the ‘lovable- but-untrustworthy’ god
(Davis 1996) has been transformed into a ‘quasi ideal king’; what we witness is a
martial reinvigoration of the Krishna mythology (Haberman 1994: 43-50; Pinch
1996: 196). It is this masculinised version of Krishna that is employed in Yadav
political rhetoric. The next sections will further unpack Krishna the Yadav icon
However, before exploring the impact of this narrative and political rhetoric in
Ahir Para, it is worth mentioning another dimension of the intersections between
‘Mathura’s Hindu narratives’ and Yadav local histories.

At the local level, Hindu narratives are presented by Yadav ‘historians’

and ordinary Yadavs as ‘hard historical data’ of the perennial existence of the
Yadav community in Mathura town. The history of Mathura’s shrine becomes the
history of the local Yadavs, who claim to be the ‘autochthonous’ inhabitants of
Mathura and the descendants of Krishna. ‘Mathura Hindu narratives’ provide the
local Yadavs with evidence to support their arguments with non-Yadavs who
contest their claims. At the local level Yadav and Chaube narratives of the past
contest each other (Lynch 1996). Both communities claim to descend from the
god Krishna and to be the ancient citizens of Mathura. In the next section, I
describe how this contention is yearly enacted in the ritual performance of the
‘Kamsa vadh ka mela ’ (the festival of the killing of Kamsa).

The ‘historical’ debate around Krishna’s shrine is not the only resource
which gives strength to the Yadavs’ claims about the past. The broadcasting of
Krishna’s story, the epic Mahabharata, as a television serial starting in 1989, and
thus parallel to the rise of Hindu nationalism in Mathura, reinforced Yadavs’
sense of the past. Yadav informants often pointed out to me how the Chaubes can
no longer contest their history because millions of people now know who the
‘real’ descendants of Krishna are. The Mahabharata TV serial is often recalled as
1 ^7
an extra piece of ‘true’ evidence of the Yadavs’ ‘glorious’ past. In sum, Hindu
nationalist ideology and the Mahabharata TV serial has helped local Yadavs to

137 For an analysis of the social and political implications of the TV broadcasting of the

Mahabharata and Ramayana see Lutgendorf (1991); Richman (1991); and Mitra (1992).

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think about the god Krishna as an ‘historical’ ancestor and importantly as a
‘warrior-politician’.

‘...the Yadavs have the honour of claiming Sri Krishna as one of

them. Great as religious teacher and prominent in politics and
war...He is a national hero from the historical point of view’
(P.Yadav, 45 years old, Samajwadi Party activist)

It is important to underline that generally local people perceive ‘the historical

findings collected in the museum’, or documented in a TV serial or newspaper, as
extra evidence of their being descendants of an extraordinary person with
extraordinary qualities. Informants do not need historical evidence to believe that
they descend from Krishna. In their eyes, the religious texts or shrines are not
false if they are not historically backed up. However, if they are, then they are
somehow seen to acquire an extra legitimacy, especially in the eyes o f ‘others’.

In sum, local people both devalue and value ‘history’ at the same time. I
suggest that by using the language of ‘science’ Mathura Yadavs also dress up
their past with ‘modernity’. This is more of a cosmetic change rather than a
qualitative one. Informants provide accounts of their past which are at once
historical, ahistorical and imbibed with a mythological aura to which are attached
religious meanings. For them it is irrelevant to distinguish between mythology,
archaeologically proven facts, and the god they worship. ‘Historical facts’ are
conceived as an extra layer to be added to their past; a layer that informs their
narratives with a modem tone.

‘Krishna the Yadav icon’ and the Bhagavad Gita

Yadav ‘historians’ and politicians emphasise the image o f ‘Krishna the

charioteer’: the rigorous, moral, military and masculine advisor of Aijuna. They
often point to the work of the Bengali nationalist Bakimchandra Chatteijee as ‘the
best source of information’ available on the life of Krishna. If, on the one hand,
Ahir Para Yadavs advise me to read the Bhagavad Gita in order to understand
who is the ‘real’ Krishna, on the other Yadav politicians and ‘historians’ tell me
to read the work of Bakimchandra Chatteijee. According to the Bengali

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nationalist writer, ‘Krishna was not only an avatar but an ideal man, a Positivist
hero’ (Mukheijee and Maddem 1986: 19). Bakimchandra Chatteijee attempts to
prove the historicity of Krishna and to ‘rescue’ the ‘real Krishna’ from the
mystical cowherder who played games with milkmaids. Bankim Chandra
Chatteijee’s Krishna was a warrior, politician and philosopher. ‘A man who had
cultivated all human faculties well and had achieved harmony. He was a man of
action not an effeminate cowherder nor an ascetic’ (ibid.: 19). It is to ‘the
Krishna’ of Chatteijee that Yadav ideologues mostly refer. 1 3 8 Here, Krishna is
depicted as a venerable now-dead Yadav political leader. Similarly, J.N.S. Yadav
notes how without any doubt the Mahabharata represents Krishna as a ‘human
politician par excellence.. .(J.N.S. Yadav 1992: 94).

The prominence of the epic Krishna and the Mahabharata over Krishna-
the-cowherder and the Puranas is explicit not only in the caste literature but also
in the speeches delivered at caste association meetings. The following are a
number of extracts from speeches recorded at various public venues in Delhi and
Mathura.

‘Krishna is considered a multifaceted personality. ...Various people

have various myths about him but sometimes when it comes to his
16,000 queens it reflects a kind of illiteracy’ (Mulayam Singh Yadav,
AIYM Convention Vaishali-New Delhi, 26 December 1999).
‘Lord Krishna is being defamed on the pretext that he was a
womaniser.. .whereas Lord Krishna respected and recognised the
woman’s power. Women are respected in a number of ways - she is a
woman, she is a goddess, she is Durga (goddess of courage) she is
Lakshmi (goddess of money), she is Parvati (wife of Lord of Shiva)
and so on’ (Laloo Prasad Yadav, AIYM Convention Vaishali-New
Delhi, 26 December 1999).

‘Krishna’ is said to have ‘respected women’; he was not a womaniser. The

Puranas are said to have ‘manufactured many cock and bull stories’ to defame
Krishna (K.C. Yadav, 65 years old, historian). When the puranic sources are not
totally dismissed they are re-read and reinterpreted:

‘The authors of the Puranas depict the life of Krishna colourfully and
some hints should be given to our readers of these Puranas. The

138 I found Chatteijee’s work in every Yadav historians’ private archive. At present, an

influential Yadav historian, K.C. Yadav, is writing a ‘bibliography’ of Krishna and is

drawing extensively on Chatteijee’s Krishnacharitra work.

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 Vishnu Purana being very ancient gives the life of Sri Krishna as pure
and holy...Nevertheless, it does not say that Krishna was vicious and
debauched’ (Khedkar 1959: 50).
‘.. .The Vishnu Purana may be taken to be authentic for the early life
of Sri Krishna, while the Mahabharata for his late life’ (ibid.: 52).
‘It is felt that the lascivious, lustful, immoral Krishna of Gokula
cannot be the same person as the friend of the Pandavas and great
teacher of the Bhagavad Gita. For one thing it has not been
definitively proved whether Krishna had questionable relations with
the Gopis. On account of the absence of any reference in the
Mahabharata to the relations of Krishna with the Gopis which is
found in the Harivansha and the Puranas some scholars hold that there
was no basis in fact for the Gopis stories...At the most all that we can
say regarding Krishna’s life and doings in Gokula is that his youthful
loves did not go beyond violent flirtations and a taste for group
dancing and singing; and they were rather a precocious manifestation
of his rich, artistic and vital nature’ (J.N.S. Yadav 1992: 94).

If on the one hand great effort is given to portraying a ‘puritan’ Krishna, on the
other the Bhagavad Gita is portrayed as ‘the book of the Yadavs*. The above
quoted speeches of Mulayam Singh Yadav and Laloo Prasad Yadav were
recorded on the occasion of the inauguration of the Krishna Bhavan, a socio­
cultural centre developed on the outskirts of Delhi. The Bhavan’s facilities
include a library, a multipurpose hall with a capacity of 250 persons, an open-air
auditorium for 500 persons, and guest accommodation. The building is said to
have been constructed ‘to propagate the teaching and tenets of Shrimad Bhagwat
Gita and ancient Indian culture’ (Pamphlet, 1999). Such aims are consistent with
one of the main objectives stated in the constitution of the AIYM, namely,

‘To devise ways and means to help Yadavs to achieve ancestral fame
and to foster and propagate the teaching of the Holy Gita.’ (AIYM,
Constitution, Resolution, 2., Original English).

Similarly, Pralad Yadav, the secretary of the MYS, pointed out how it is his duty
to propagate amongst the Yadav community the regular reading of the Gita, the
chanting of the gayatri mantra and the protection of cows. In a conversation he
added how the Bhagavad Gita has international fame. ‘The Bhagavad Gita is the
essence of all scriptures. It is the sign of Indian tradition, civilisation and culture.
The Gita scripture is full of Indian concepts. But it is nothing but the Universal
scripture. The Bhagavad Gita is part of the Mahabharata.. .The Gita knowledge

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originates from the mouth of Krishna, and hence from the mouth of a Yadav’ (P.
Yadav, 45 years old, SP activist).

In order to understand this representation it is worth recalling the secular

and religious importance of the Bhagavad Gita, and the way in which this text has
been repeatedly interpreted to provide solutions to contemporary problems. The
Bhagavad Gita is one of the main texts of modem Hindus, and it is nearly as well
known in the West. Its setting is the battle between the Kurus and the Pandavas,
which forms the heart of the great epic, the Mahabharata, and in structure it
consists of a long dialogue between Aijuna and Krishna (Brockington, 1997: 28).
It should be noted that commentators from Gandhi onwards have found social and
spiritual programmes in the Bhagavad Gita (Malinar, 1995:444). Since the end of
the nineteenth century this religious, philosophical and ethical text has been used
as a kind of nationalist programme, a symbol of universal spirituality, a manual
for political action and to develop a new corporate work ethic (cf. King 1987).
Most of these active interpretations of the Bhagavad Gita concentrate on Krishna
teaching Aijuna on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. The vitality of the text in
providing ‘social charters’ is only reconfirmed by the Yadav reinterpretation.

The use of the Bhagavad Gita by Yadavs is, however, peculiar, and this is
because the Bhagavad Gita is said to have been spoken directly from Krishna’s
mouth. The Yadavs, as direct ‘descendants’ of Krishna, think of themselves as
privileged vessels of his knowledge. Yadav rhetoric at its extreme represents
Yadavs as a special kind of human being because of their relation with Krishna,
and as predisposed to the amazing characteristics of the god Krishna displayed in
the Bhagavad Gita and Mahabharata.

During caste meetings explicit parallels are drawn between the history and
present-day success of the Yadavs and the history of Krishna in the Mahabharata
and Bhagavad Gita.

‘I recall the circumstances which we faced while constructing the

Krishna Bhavan. Today we are facing difficult times; similar
difficulties Lord Krishna had to face when he arrived in this world. It
is a world informed by atrocities, social injustice and depression. But
remember when Krishna fought against injustice, against atrocities, he
faced his relatives, his uncle King Kamsa, who was extremely
powerful; he had money power and muscle power. The citizens were
doubtful and not sure that Krishna could beat Kamsa and fight against
injustice. You must have read the Mahabharata. Everybody knew that

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 as a child, Krishna had to face the powerful Kamsa. But when Krishna
defeated Kamsa, then everyone in Hindustan recognised the power of
Krishna. But before seeing the truth nobody expected such an
amazing outcome. The same circumstances are prevailing
today...nobody thought that Yadavs would be so politically
successful again’ (Mulayam Singh Yadav, AIYM Convention,
Vaishali-New Delhi, 26 December 1999).

‘I once again revert to the Mahabharata. On the battlefield, Lord

Krishna realised that Aijuna was hesitant to fight with his teacher, his
brothers, his relatives and he was afraid of death. Krishna guided
Aijuna. He made him understand the truth of life. He gave him a
lecture in the battlefield so that his misconceptions about life and
human relations could be eliminated. He prompted Aijuna to fight
bravely so that he could be appreciated in the history for long... He
made him understand that the soul never dies, man is immortal, the
soul can not be lit by fire, no air can blow it away, no water can
submerge it; rather as we change clothes, the same way the soul
changes body. And this is the life cycle. So he asked Aijuna not to get
entrapped in the network of misconceptions and fight the social evils’
(Laloo Prasad Yadav, AIYM Convention, Vaishali-New Delhi, 26
December 1999).

‘Lord Krishna has shown us the way to achieve our position, our
goals through struggle. If we deviated ourselves from the way of
struggle our built up image will be faded and will be a thing lost. If
we silently see the atrocities going on, then we do not have any right
to be called the heirs of Lord Krishna. Hence...the Mahabharata and
the Gita are our sources of inspiration; they are the final message to
us, nothing beyond that. If you think attentively, you will find that
whenever we are depressed or disgusted then it is a relief to read and
follow the commandments of the Gita. Wherever I look, I find that
our community is very innocent comparatively. This is not a negative
point with the Yadav culture’ (Laloo Prasad Yadav, ibid.)

So the Mahabharata and the Bhagavad Gita are used as sources of inspiration for
the present. Yadav emphasis on the Krishna of the Gita and on Krishna the
politician is reflected in the iconographic images that adorn Yadav caste literature
and the banners and symbols portrayed in Yadav caste meetings. These images
depict Krishna as the divine charioteer and the teacher of Aijuna (see Plate 9); or
as the universal Krishna. Other images depict Krishna holding the Bhagavad Gita
text or heavily armed and with a muscular body (see Plate 10 and 11). These are
mainly representations of episodes of the Bhagavad Gita which have found a
permanent visual expression in modem Hinduism. In particular, the figure which
depicts Aijuna encouraging Krishna to engage in active battle is extremely

245
popular. King (1987) points out how ‘today we meet a situation where what
began as an illustration of a text has developed into a religious image in its own
right. The image of Krishna, the charioteer, has become a true icon, that is to say
a focus of religious worship and devotion’ (ibid.: 177).

The chariot representation is not only present in print and images, but it is
also re-enacted during caste association meetings. The AIYM claims it is a social
and secular organisation which is not concerned with religious issues.
Nevertheless, in its meetings the presence of political leaders and the deployment
of religious themes is striking. The result is that these meetings often resemble
religious ceremonies. Usually they present a repetitive pattern: they start in the
morning with yagya-havan (vedic sacrifice), the chanting of the gayatri mantra
(sacred formula) and the reciting of episodes from the Gita. This is followed by
the hoisting of the Mahasabha flag. Colourful processions are also organised.
Often the president and other eminent members of the Mahasabha, especially
politicians, sit in a decorated chariot (see Plate 12). Other leaders follow the
chariot on motorbikes and horses. Jankis (visual displays) depicting the various
facets of Lord Krishna’s life are also often part of the procession.

The processions led by the chariot are enactments of Krishna’s chariot

scene. During Yadav processions, participants touch the ‘chariot’, throw flowers
on its path and give offerings to those on board as if they were worshiping a
sacred image. To understand such behaviour, it is necessary to point out the
peculiarities of the Hindu visual system. Central to religious observance in the
Hindu tradition is darsan, the auspicious seeing of a divine being (Eck 1981).
Sacred images which visually or symbolically represent particular deities, are
believed to be infused with the presence or the life or power of these deities.
Hindu priests are able to bring images to life though a complex ritual
‘establishment’ that invokes the god into its material support. The iconographic
indeterminacy of Yadav chariot performances seems to offer strategic and
rhetorical advantages to those who organise the meetings. Yadav political leaders
bring sacred images to life and the response to that seems to be grounded in the
cultural notion of divinity representation (Davis 1997). Krishna images articulate
religious meanings and emotions and at the same time they are a politically
effective form of communication.

246
 ij w ^r*r?R |j
{i nrrnmr? w t t j|

Plate 9: Krishna-the-charioteer (Yadav Directory, Front Cover 1992)

247
 ■

Plate 10: Krishna holding the Bhagavad Gita

(Yadav Sansar, Front Cover 2000)

248
Plate 11: Krishna-the-warrior (Yadava’s Living History, Front Cover
2000)

249
 if* * *

Platel2: Yadav political leaders, Chariot Procession, AIYM

Convention Surat, 1995 (Yadav Kul Dipika, January 1996)

250
Plate 13: All India Yadav Mahasabha Flag (AIYM Rules 1984)

251
Many have pointed out how technologies and media have also affected the new
iconography of Krishna and his worship (see Babb and Wadley 1997: 9). For
example, in a recent children’s comic series based on Hindu mythological tales,
Krishna is presented in his cosmos-embodying form. This representation is an
illustration of Chapter 11 of the Bhagavad Gita and it is gradually gaining
popularity in modem Hinduism. Again this image is accompanied by an emphasis
on the morality of Krishna and on how Krishna is ‘the most endearing and
ennobling character in Indian mythology’ (Pritchett 1997: 97). The emblem of the
AIYM is Krishna bearing sudarsan chakr (the discus-like circular weapon of
Vishnu-Krishna) in his right hand and a conch in his left hand. It is precisely the
‘cosmic Vishnu-Krishna’ who has been taken as the symbol of the Yadavs, and is
represented on the AIYM flag as well as on the covers of caste publications (see
Plate 13). Krishna-the-cowherder is present in Yadav caste iconography as the
protector of cows and with his ‘wife’ Radha. In the following chapter I explore
how the symbolism of the cow and milk are mobilised in the political arena and
how they are entrenched in the production of charismatic Yadav politicians.

Krishna ‘the democratic leader’ in Ahir Para/Sadar

Bazaar

In this section I focus on selected aspects of Yadav political rhetoric i.e.

the representation of democratic values as an innate quality of the ancient Yadavs,
and the representation of the ancestor god Krishna as the first ‘democratic
political leader’. To begin with I survey what the Yadavs of Ahir Para tell me
they read about their ‘democratic’ history and culture. Then, I illustrate what their
political and social leaders have to say about Yadavs’ predispositions to succeed
in the democratic electoral process. Finally, I explore ordinary Yadavs’ general
political attitudes, and how they assimilate political rhetoric.

Caste publications

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Throughout my fieldwork in Mathura, I was constantly directed to written sources
that ‘my’ informants considered relevant for reconstructing the Yadavs’ history.
This literature consisted of pamphlets, periodicals, magazines and books in
English and Hindi published by local and regional caste associations. Here, I
provide extracts from a number of publications collected in Ahir Para. In the
Introduction to one of the key texts of Yadav history, the ancient ‘democratic’
Yadavs are described as follows:

‘The fortunes of the Yadavs were greatly affected by two peculiarities

of their social and political system - their sustained faith in
republicanism,...and their comparative freedom from orthodoxy,
qualities on which a high value is set at the present day... ’ (Khedkar
1959: XI)
‘Even in the Vedic age the Yadavs were upholders of the Republican
ideals of government... The Mahabharata furnishes interesting details
regarding the functioning of the republic form of government among
the Yadavs... It is now an agreed fact that Sri Krishna, the central
figure of the epic narratives tried to defend the republican ideas
against the imperialistic movement led by Jarasandha of Magadaha
and Kamsa of Mathura’ (ibid.: 199-200).

This type of historical reconstruction is commonly found in other books whose

aim is to portray the glorious and noble Yadav past (K.C. Yadav 1966; R. Pandey
1968). Moreover, it is commonly found in the yearly and monthly publications of
local caste associations. The following are further examples:

‘Yadu (the forefather of Krishna) developed a novel system of

governance in his Raj. It was democracy where he ruled with the
consent of his people in a much more effective manner than what we
are doing today. And thus claimed the honour to be the first
experimentor of democracy in the world... ’ (AIYM Jubilee Souvenir
1924-1999, 1999: 10-15).
‘Lord Krishna was a great man and the Yadav community should be
proud of the path that he left to them. Lord Krishna gave them three
principles: democracy, social justice and commitment to equality.
These are the bases of our future. He was a democratic leader. He
used to respect the views of his citizens. He used to believe that the
person who is elected by the citizens has the right to mle. He was the
first person to begin a ‘democratic way of governance’: but others say
that France gave birth to democracy’ (R.M.S. Yadav, Yadav Kul
Dipika, 1999: 69-70).
‘Even after the battle of the Mahabharata, we can still find all the
characteristics of the Yadav vansh (race) in the contemporary Yadavs.
Even today they think in a democratic way and they are ready to fight
for justice and political correctness...The Yadav vansh has played a
very vital role in Indian political history. The Rigveda describes the

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 heirs of Yadu, Turvasu, Anu, Puru. They were organised in a
democratic fashion. They elected their King’ (ibid.: 20).

These kinds of statement might make the reader smile. However, a large number
of informants were deeply convinced that the Yadavs were natural vessels of
‘democratic’ values. The kind of literature described above is usually distributed
free or at a very low price to the participants of caste association meetings. The
number of regular publications is astonishingly large. The content of this
literature does not present much variation.

Caste association meetings and political speeches

The content and rhetoric of the speeches delivered by Yadav social leaders and
politicians do not differ greatly from the content of the publications just
examined. Mulayam Singh Yadav and Laloo Prasad Yadav are at times described
by their caste supporters as avatars (incarnations) of Krishna sent to earth to
protect ‘the oppressed’ and to promote social justice. It is the natural duty of the
Yadavs as descendants of Krishna, and the Kshatriyas, to protect the weaker
sections of the society. The following is an extract from a speech delivered by
Laloo Prasad Yadav at a Yadav national conference in December 1999.

‘I believe that whenever the name of Krishna appears, it does not

make any sense to avoid politics. Lord Krishna challenged the evils.
The history of communalism and various epics are revealed by a
number of historians. But whatever the Vedas said, they began with
the word Yadav...this is our history...I tell you the Mahabharata is a
true epic. There is a description of a 56 crore Yaduvanshi Army, we
can therefore safely say that this Krishna Bhavan is dedicated to 180
million Yadavs’ (Laloo Prasad Yadav, AIYM Convention, Vaishali-
New Delhi, 26 December, 1999).
‘Have you, in the whole life, seen such a Krishna-like personality who
has never wished to be in power or to be king. Krishna always fought
for the upliftment of the poor, he played with them, he resided with
them, he made his society with that class. You know, he was the son
of a King, he was a prince. He could have easily become a King. But
he never did so. He always associated himself with his poor friends,
the farmers, the shelterless etc. He passed his life with these people,
he struggled for them and he left this world while struggling for those
people. He really struggled very hard...Lord Krishna’s descendants,
from all over the country, the AIYM has achieved the object of
bringing all the Yadavs spread all over the country under one title, i.e.

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 Yadav and the Yadav Mahasabha also inculcated the spirit of unity
thereby bringing strength in the collective attempt in the development
of India. In the Indian History particularly with reference to the Vedic
Period the Yadavs had a great past, a glorious past and Yadavas were
known for their bravery and diplomatic wisdom. The Mahabharata
period which was the period of Yadavas is known for republican and
democratic government’ (Harmohan Singh Yadav, Presidential
Address, AIYM Convention, Vaishali-New Delhi, 25 December
1999).

The speeches delivered in the caste association meetings often contain passages
which exhort the audience to ‘indulge into politics’ as the most effective vehicle
for socio-economic mobility. For example: ‘we shall all try to become as
Mulayamji and Lalooji’, the vice-president of the Uttar Pradesh Yadav Sabha said
during a meeting in Agra (1999) and then added ‘in every Yadav there is a
Mulayam’.

The previous examples were drawn from meetings held at the national and
regional levels (see Plate 14 and Plate 15). I now focus on the content of the
political rhetoric used by local social leaders and politicians within Mathura town
and more specifically in the neighbourhood of Ahir Para. Whenever I attended
regional and national Yadav caste association meetings I did so by following the
Yadav social and political leaders from Mathura. Then, on our return to town, I
was able to observe how they reinterpreted and disseminated what they had heard
and understood; how local agents delivered a particular message to the inhabitants
of Ahir Para. For the last ten years, local meetings have been regularly organised
in the different Yadav neighbourhoods. The organisation of Krishna’s birthday
celebration and other religious festivals are amongst the main objectives of the
organisation. Meetings are also regularly held to discuss the resolutions approved
in the regional and national meetings of the AIYM and/or of the Uttar Pradesh
Yadav Mahasabha.

255
256
 vW
Plate 15: Yadav political leaders at a AIYM Convention (Vaishali-
New Delhi, 1999)

257
Each caste meeting in Ahir Para begins with the local leaders exhorting the
Yadavs of Mathura town to unity, and to follow the teachings of their ancestor.
Local social leaders in Mathura often use episodes from the life of Krishna as
metaphors which symbolise the god’s heroism and his life commitment to defeat
despotism and promote social justice. The following is an extract from a speech
delivered on the occasion of the milk strike organised in the summer of 1999. By
portraying Krishna as a trade-union leader, an Ahir Para Yadav leader mobilised
Mathura milk-sellers to join the strike by saying:

‘Sri Krishna prevented the maids from selling butter and milk in the
market o f Mathura or giving them as tax to the king... And this is
because it was the right o f the cowherders to use milk and butter for
their personal use. Krishna also successfully organised milk strikes
which prevented the supply o f milk to Mathura. We shall follow his
steps’.

These extracts from local speeches should be read as examples of how a particular
rhetoric is used locally to address practical issues. This form of rhetoric does not
only find expression in verbal discussion, but also in ritual performances.

The Killing of Kamsa: a political performance

In the last fifteen years, the MYS has organised a number of religious
celebrations. Here, for reasons of space, I shall focus only on the Kamsa festival
and on the Krishna Lila performance. The Krishna myth narrates how thousands
of years ago the throne of Mathura was usurped by Krishna’s uncle, the tyrannical
Kamsa, and how the grown-up Krishna killed Kamsa to liberate his people from
an illegitimate rule. The Kamsa Vadh ka Mela (Festival of Kamsa’s Destruction)
began to be organised by the MYS fifteen years ago. It is portrayed as the
celebration of the victory of the democratic Yadavs over an oppressive and
despotic monarchy.

258
Plate 16: Kamsa Festival Procession, Sadar Bazaar (1999).

Plate 17: Krishna and Balram, Kamsa Festival

259
This festival has been traditionally performed by Chaubes, a community of
Brahman priests who act as ritual specialists and guides for pilgrims visiting the
holy town of Mathura and Braj (Lynch 1996). It is celebrated annually in early
November and the Chaubes are the masters of the festival. In 1980, the local
Yadav committee decided that it was time for the Yadav community to begin to
celebrate what was indeed ‘their’ festival. Krishna was the one who killed Kamsa,
and since Krishna was a Yadav, the Kamsa Festival belonged to the Yadavs. Thus
for centuries the Chaubes had performed the ritual illegitimately because local
Yadavs were too poor and oppressed to object. In 1984, the MYS wrote a petition
to the Superintendent of Police, who was a Yadav at the time, and obtained
permission to celebrate the Kamsa Festival in Sadar Bazaar. In the same year, the
Yadavs of Sadar Bazaar began to organise the Krishna Lilas, traditional religious
theatrical dramas which enact the life of Krishna.

Ram Yadav, one of the promoters of the Kamsa Festival and of the-local
Krishna Lilas pointed out to me that with the Kamsa Festival, Ahir Para Yadavs
wished to assert that Krishna and Balram (Krishna’s brother) were Yadavs. What
the MYS contests about Chaube performance is its illegitimacy. During the
Kamsa Festival two children are dressed up as Krishna and Balram, and are
carried around in a procession through the streets of the town. When they act in
the drama they are not merely ‘actors’ but become the two divine persons and are
worshipped as such throughout the procession (see Plate 16, Plate 17 and Plate
18). Informants told me that only the Yadavs who are the descendants of Krishna
could legitimately represent Krishna and Balram. In contrast, the Chaubes, who
are not Yadavs, have nothing to do with the two divine brothers.

The same pattern is followed in the celebrations of the Krishna Lilas that
accompany and follow the Kamsa Festival. The person who acts as Krishna in the
performance should be a Yadav. In November 1999, during the Krishna Lila
performance in Sadar Bazaar, multiple associations were made between the
actors, the story they were acting and the genealogical pedigree of the audience,
which was largely Yadav. The Krishna Lilas were seen not only as the history of
Krishna but also as the history of Mathura Yadavs, and more specifically of Ahir

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Para Yadavs. 1 3 9 In the performance references to places close to Ahir Para were
regularly made. These made the performance highly realistic and almost
historical. Conversations with spectators about these performances support this
impression. I overheard the actor who personified Kamsa telling a group of young
Yadavs that at Mahadev Ghat, the most important site of worship for the local
Yadavs, the Ahirs had raped the mother of Kamsa. Immediately one of the youths
came to tell me about what he had just come to know. He was proud to descend
from the people who ‘destroyed the imperialist Kamsa’ (English word). Krishna
and the Ahirs killed him and gave people freedom to govern themselves. ‘Social
Justice’ is the message of Krishna, and it is also the message of the SP’ added his
friend Arun, a young SP militant. ‘Lord Krishna had always helped the poor and
needy Kshatriyas. There is a similarity between the ideas of Mulayam Singh and
Lord Krishna’, another young Yadav commented. ’

Talking about ‘politics9, ‘corruption9 and ‘gods9

The portrayal of Yadav politicians as ‘hero gods’ contrasts sharply with

ethnographies which illustrate Indians’ dismal view of their politicians (see for
example Ruud 2000 and Parry 2000). In these accounts, politicians are described
as ‘dirty’, corrupt and self-serving. Similarly, in the language of indology artha,
the pursuit of worldly interests, is said to be inferior to dharma, the higher
religious principle (cf. Dumont 1970). Accordingly, in the normative Hindu
system, politics is morally dubious because it is about power, clout, influence and
contacts (Ruud 2000: 134).

In many Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar households, there is at least one person

involved directly or indirectly with politics (see Chapter 6 ). A significant number
of these people are aware of the bad reputation that politicians (and hence they
themselves) have, and openly acknowledge, and embrace, the dirtiness of the
‘political game’. In addition, a number of informants also sought to distance

139 For comparative ethnographic data on caste/community festivals see Osella and Osella
(2000a: 162-167).

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themselves from the murky world of politics and corruption. Pavan Yadav (30
years old) is the son of one of the leading members of the ‘Chaudhri Parivar’. His
father is a locally powerful politician and an active member of the Samajwadi
Party. Pavan told me that he does not like politics. With this statement he meant
that he does not like the roughness and corruption that ‘doing politics’ involves.
He knows that he was able to attend the best public school in Mathura because his
father and uncle threatened and bribed the school’s Principal. He is aware that he
obtained his job because of political contacts and bribes. He also knows that most
of the wealth of his family comes from usury, which is sustained by continuous
acts of violence and usurpation. He knows that his uncle’s main job is to speed up
legal proceedings and that his ‘customers’ come from all over Western U.P.

Pavan views these practices as illegitimate. In line with Parry’s

ethnography of corruption (2000), Pavan does not think that bhrashtachar
(corruption) and ghus (bribes) are ‘morally neutral’ activities. He also thinks that
the caste title Yadav is not ‘morally neutral’, and that a ‘bad’ reputation is
intrinsic to it. Similarly, as part of a campaign against corruption, Rajiv Yadav
(26 years old, student) dropped the suffix Yadav from his name. Furthermore, he
wrote a couple of articles in the local Yadav newsletter in which he proposed that
the challenge to Yadav youths in the twenty-first century should be to make the
Yadav caste title respectable. Yadavs, he said, need to regain a clean and
respectable image which overcomes the unfortunate but popular goonda
stereotype.

At the local level, however, Pavan and Rajiv’s dissenting voices remain
very weak, and are strongly criticised, or barely noticed, by the significant
number of people for whom having a ‘goonda ’ reputation and being actively
involved in ‘politics’ is a matter of pride not shame. The majority of informants
strongly value their ability to make ‘political’ contacts, and often proudly
emphasised how in Mathura town people prefer to approach Yadav fixers rather
than fixers from other castes. They highlight their ability to ‘do politics’, and they
do not attempt to disguise their illegal activities. To have influential political
contacts (better if they are within the family) is locally considered a source of
prestige, and not something to be ashamed of. This is not only the case amongst
members of the Yadav community, but is also common among other castes. One

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of the first things that local Banias put in their sons or daughters’ bio-data, which
they use for marriage arrangement purposes, is their family connections with
locally powerful BJP leaders.

In the same fashion, I recorded endless positive comments about Mulayam

Singh Yadav and Laloo Prasad Yadav, both by Yadav and non-Yadav informants.
When local Yadavs refer to their politicians as goondas, their use of the word
does not necessarily imply moral judgment. For example, during a discussion
with a group of Yadavs about the forthcoming municipality elections in Sadar
Bazaar, three people were ready to bet Rs. 500 that S.A. Yadav would win. I
asked why they were so sure, and they told me that ‘he had the look of a goonda',
and people (especially women) like it. The ‘goonda look’ implies a strong
muscular physique, a leather jacket (even in 45°C), sunglasses, a powerful
motorbike and a mischievous smile. Hence, in many instances, the ‘goonda ’
appellation is used to convey a ‘cool’ and ‘successful’ image.

Most local Yadavs think that it is precisely through ‘politics’ and

‘goondaism’ that they obtained ‘dignity’, ‘power’ and importantly wealth. It is
worth recalling that local Yadavs are generally not victims of ‘corruption’, but the
perpetrators. 1 4 0 Accordingly, they view their charismatic and allegedly corrupt
politicians as ‘heroic protectors’ of their community and as models for their sons.
In Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar I rarely overheard local Yadavs making moral
judgments about the conduct of their charismatic politicians. Whenever
politicians were criticised, they were not accused of being corrupt but of not being
‘loyal’ to their community.

I often overheard comments by local Yadavs which strongly critiqued

Mulayam Singh Yadav. However, these people did not criticise him for being
allegedly ‘corrupt’, or for his alleged criminal record, but because he allegedly
did not distribute ‘the fruits of power’ evenly within the Yadav community. In
these accounts, Mulayam Singh Yadav is said to have privileged ‘his’ people
from Etawah and Kannauj and forgotten about the Yadavs from western U.P.
Similarly, in many instances during fieldwork, local netas (political leaders) were

140 For comparative ethnography see the case-study o f the Jats illustrated by Jeffrey and
Lerche (2000).

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strongly criticised, and accused of allegedly receiving money from Mulayam
Singh and the Samajwadi Party and keeping the money for themselves instead of
redistributing it within the community. Accordingly, netas are accused of keeping
the money for theirparivars or for their mistresses.

On the occasion of the election campaign for the 1999 Lok Sabha, a local
Yadav SP politician was publicly criticised for keeping part of the campaign
budget for himself and his alleged ‘Brahman’ mistress. This contestation was
articulated in a spectacular way. One morning, the inhabitants of Ahir Para/Sadar
Bazaar woke up and found their neighbourhood covered with hundreds of leaflets.
The text was written in a powerful ironic language, and portrayed the Yadav
politician as a castrated man. It described how the SP politician completely lost
control of his manliness and became the puppet of his Brahman mistress. Again,
this public contestation did not criticise ‘corruption’ per se, but it contested the
‘unfair’ distribution of ‘the fruits of corruption’. Importantly, what was at stake,
and considered to be ‘wrong’, was the lack of loyalty from the neta towards his
community. It was precisely this behaviour that was considered incorrect. In
contrast, corruption was taken for granted and as a necessary precondition for
politics. After the elections, the U.P. Samajwadi Party committee decided to
suspend the local neta.

This example shows how local citizens possess the means to make their
political leaders accountable. In the same fashion it also suggests that locally,
corruption does not provoke strong outrage, or at least not enough outrage to push
people into the streets to protest (cf. Osella and Osella 2000b). I suspect that
politicians in Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar are generally not openly criticised because,
in part, they behave according to the same social norms that are present within the
society they operate in. It is true that there are some dissenting voices, like that of
Pavan. These voices, however, remain ambiguous. People like Pavan may
criticise the dirtiness of politics and verbally distance themselves from it, but their
behaviour is not always consistent with their words. After all, Pavan did not
refuse his job in the local post office, even if he was aware that his uncle had paid
for it. Pavan’s behaviour exemplifies how politics remains an ambiguous world
which does not give rise to simple ‘moral’ guidelines (see Ruud 2000).

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 To sum up, the Yadav political ethnography strongly suggests that not all
Indians think their politicians are ‘bullies’ and ‘dirty’, and at the same time not all
Indians attempt to distance themselves from politics or to portray their
involvements in politics as merely strategic (cf. Ruud 2000). This ‘positive’ way
of looking at politicians and politics should be taken seriously. It may help to shed
some light on the phenomena of the ‘criminalisation of politics’ in Northern India.
In the last U.P. state elections almost 50 per cent of the candidates had criminal
charges against them or were under investigation. 1 4 1 Indeed, the issue to be
explored is why do people vote for gangster-politicians? In my experience, local
Yadavs support allegedly corrupt and criminal politicians because of their strong
identification with them, and because of the material gains that they can obtain.
However, even if materialistic motives count a great deal, the role of charisma
and political rhetoric should not be underestimated.

Local Yadavs are indeed under the spell of Mulayam Singh Yadav and
Laloo Prasad Yadav. Informants describe their charismatic politicians as
‘saviours’ and ‘protectors’ of the poor people, as skilled in statecraft and fighters
for ‘social justice’. They often stress Mulayam Singh Yadav’s heroic
achievements, and they associate him with local Ahir hero-gods and the god
Krishna. These associations should not be a surprise. The Ahir/Yadav pantheon
provides local Yadavs with ‘gods’ who are linked with ‘mundane affairs’, and
whose ‘morality’ is ambiguous in a similar way to that of charismatic Yadav
politicians. It is within this religious and normative system that claims such as
‘Mulayam Singh thinks like Krishna’ should also be evaluated.

In the previous sections, I described how Yadav political rhetoric is

explicitly aware of Krishna’s ‘amorality’. Great efforts are made to construct a
‘clean’ Krishna’ with moral integrity and ‘democratic values’. However, during
rallies and political meetings, in order to create a bond with the audience, Yadav
politicians compare themselves to a Krishna who has lost his sexual ambiguity,
but not his ‘mischievousness’, his ‘statecraft abilities’, ‘his physical strength’ and
importantly his human touch (see Chapter 6 ). In many ways, Krishna’s ambiguity

141 See India Today 14 January 2002; The Hindu, 22 January 2002; The Time o f India, 3
February 2002; The Pioneer, 8 February 2002; The Indian Express, 10 February 2002;
The Times o f India, 26 February 2002.

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and humanity makes him the perfect ‘god’ for Yadav politicians to claim affinity
with.

Although a comprehensive analysis of the nature of contemporary political

charisma and of how it enters into conflict with ‘democratic’ ideals is beyond the
scope of this thesis, I suggest that in order to understand the successful appeal of
charismatic gocwcfa-politicians, one also needs to evaluate the local religious
systems and the shared social values within which politicians operate. A
comprehensive analysis of the ways people understand ‘gods’ and ‘the political’
may also help to explain how political corruption is locally understood and
perpetuated.

Conclusion

By ‘linking’ Krishna with the modem democratic political world the Yadav
heritage supports contemporary Yadav political interests and simultaneously the
construction of an all-India Yadav community. A number of Yadav subdivisions
are said to share the same substance, the ‘same’ political skills and political
interests. Paramount to this rhetoric is the idiom of ‘religious descent’. This idiom
is used symbolically to create links of ‘substance’ between Ahir hero-gods, Ahir
warriors, Krishna-the-politician, Yadav contemporary political leaders and
ordinary Yadavs. In the next chapter, I show how the language of ‘primordiality’
and ‘essence’ can become extremely dynamic when mixed with the active
political representations of the Samajwadi Party (cf. Geertz 1993: 308; Brass
1979: 35-41). I show how Yadav ‘heritage’ becomes visible and effective in
Sadar Bazaar and in the streets of Mathura through political performances.

The centrality of mythical and religious themes in Yadav political rhetoric

provides insights in to the modem transformation of caste and its relation with
politics. What is at stake are the particular ways in which the politics of the past
works within the ideological framework of caste. Importantly, Yadav heritage
links the local kinship and religious systems with the realm of ‘existing politics’
and ‘democracy’ through sacred descent. This way of ‘being in the past’ and
understanding the link between the past and the present helps the Yadavs to

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construct their own unique view of ‘democracy’. The ethnography of the Yadavs
is an example of what has been called the vernacularisation of ‘democracy’. It
also shows the ‘different’ shapes that the rhetoric of democracy can take in
different socio-cultural settings and amongst different communities.

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 Chapter 6
‘We are a caste o f p o litic ia n sperforming politics

Introduction

In the previous chapter I showed how ‘democracy’ is rhetorically reinterpreted by

a number of Yadav politicians and intellectuals and how locals perceived
‘politicians’ and ‘politics’. I showed how a specific caste view o f ‘democracy’ is
successfully deployed and performed in the political arena and simultaneously
used to reinforce a sense of Yadav commonality. In Yadav caste political rhetoric
‘democracy’ is portrayed as a primordial phenomena passed in the blood from the
ancestor warrior-god Krishna to the contemporary Yadavs. ‘Democracy’ is also
depicted as a ‘question of numbers’ and, as such, as having an affinity with a
presumed Yadav ‘numerical strength’. Finally, ‘democracy’ is viewed as a
promoter of social justice and equality, and the Yadavs as the natural carriers and
promoters of such noble principles. Notwithstanding the multivocal ways in
which the language of democracy is employed, Yadav political rhetoric depicts
‘democracy’, ultimately, as an institution that works for the Yadavs (and to some
extent for the ‘backward communities’) and as ‘a stage’ (Hansen 2001) on which
Yadav interests and demands can be successfully articulated and fought over.

This chapter describes how caste, factions and personal interests are
fought over in the local political arena. What is at stake here is the organisational
ability of the Yadav caste associations and of the Samajwadi Party which not only
shapes ideas of what the Yadav community is, but also promotes the pursuit of
power as a way to get economic benefits and social status. This chapter thus
explores how caste consciousness shapes active political mobilisation; how active
politics informs a sense of commonality amongst Yadavs; and finally how folk
theories of descent and constructed ‘ethno-historical imaginaries’ intertwine and
shape such dynamics. I suggest that in order to understand the relation between
caste and politics special attention should be paid to the effective ways folk
descent theories are deployed and performed in the political arena in everyday

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life. Such deployments are not only linked to the process of defining ‘we’
(Yadavs) in opposition to ‘they’ (for instance the local Bania caste, the BJP
government...), but also to local perceptions of ‘the political’ and of what it
means ‘to do politics’. This complex mix of interactions has an important role in
generating political participatory resources and solidarity amongst the Yadavs of
Mathura.

The argument presented in the following sections is organised in two

parts. To begin with I describe Yadav political involvement in Ahir Para.
Thereafter I explore how caste, clan, faction and party attachments manifest
themselves in different political processes, such as the milk strike organised by
the SP at the beginning of the election campaign for the 1999 Lok Sabha election;
the 1999 Lok Sabha elections; and the municipality elections held in Ahir Para in
April 1999.

‘We are a caste of politicians’

Today, Mathura’s ordinary Yadavs say that they are by caste ‘natural’ politicians.
By saying this they not only refer to the outstanding numerical presence of Yadav
MPs in the state, or to the symbolic figures of Mulayam Singh Yadav and Laloo
Prasad Yadav, but to their marked political activism, their ancestral factionalism
and the perceived innate ability of their caste to ‘do politics’. It is my suggestion
that with politics they refer to their ability to make political connections and to
benefit from state resources. Three of the four ward representatives of Ahir
Para/Sadar Bazaar/Civil Lines area belong to the Yadav community. Local
Yadavs are indeed politically influential. 1 4 2 The data on political behaviour
collected in a survey of Sadar Bazaar’s main communities confirm such a picture.
Table 6.1 shows that 39 per cent of the Yadavs in the survey have a family
member in politics, for example a ward or panchayat representative, MLA or

142 Sadar Bazaar’s Yadavs have been winning at least one seat in the local Municipality
elections from 1967. See Meeting Board Registers, Cantonment Board Elections from
1924.

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MP . 1 4 3 Similarly, a very high proportion of the Yadavs (75 per cent) personally
know someone in politics, and 35 per cent had recently contacted a politician in
their constituency, which mainly meant an MLA or MP. Yadavs clearly have
more political connections than other communities in Sadar Bazaar. 1 4 4 Local
politicians are local fixers and brokers (dalal); most of these men have established
their credibility through extended kinship structures, moneylending and
patronage. The ethos of action, violence and male honour inform their positions.
They act as brokers for all the communities and not only for their caste mates. I
saw many high-caste people, who refer to Yadavs as goondas, using their
‘services’. Their connections and political influence are thus practically
acknowledged.

Table 6.1: Political connections in Sadar Bazaar145

Caste/Community Family Personally Personally Number
member in know a contacted a
politics politician politician
Upper castes 2 1 % 61% 18% 75
Yadavs 39% 75% 35% 65
OBCs 1 0 % 80% 2 0 % 1 0

Scheduled Castes 18% 64% 27% 2 2

Muslims 1 2 % 51% 1 2 % 41
Other 1 0 % 33% 1 0 % 1 0

All 23% 64% 2 2 % 223

Source: Mathura Survey
Notes: Table entries based on all respondents (no information was recorded for 2 cases)

Ahir Para Yadavs are not only very well ‘politically’ connected, they are also
politically highly active. Moreover, such political activism is not limited to a
marginal elite group. Most of Ahir Para’s Yadavs vote, they are members of
political parties, they actively participate during election campaigns and they are

143 Survey questions: Is any member o f your family a politician? Do you personally know
any party leaders or any candidates in this constituency? Have you ever contacted any
political leader (MLA, MP, Party leader) for any need or problem?
144 In particular, they are significantly more likely than average to have a family member
in politics and to have personally contacted a politician.
145 The ‘Forward Castes’ category is composed o f Brahmans, Banias and Rajputs; the
OBCs o f Malis and Jats; the SC o f Dhobis, Jatavs and Valmikis.

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obsessed with politics and love to talk about it. Table 6.2 shows that vote turn-out
is high for all the communities in Sadar Bazaar. 1 4 6 However, the Yadavs are
significantly more ‘politically’ involved than average if we look at their activism
during the election campaign (attending rallies, canvassing door to door,
collecting money and/or distributing leaflets), and their party membership (41 per
cent). Table 6.3 shows the CSDS data on political participation in the whole of
Uttar Pradesh. Sadar Bazaar is undoubtedly an exceptionally politicised place if
compared with the data on Uttar Pradesh as a whole. Notwithstanding that,
compared to the other communities in Uttar Pradesh, Yadav involvement in the
election campaign (28 per cent) and in party activity ( 1 0 per cent) is still quite
high.

Table 6.2: Political participation in Sadar Bazaar

Caste/Community Voted in 1999 Participated in Member of a Number
LS election election political party
campaign
Upper Castes 72% 23% 24% 75
Yadavs 80% 39% 41% 65
OBCs 70% 2 0 % - 1 0

Scheduled Castes 76% 18% 32% 2 2

Muslim 85% 1 2 % 5% 41
Other 82% 9% - 1 0

All 78% 24% 24% 223

Source: Mathura Survey
Notes: Table entries based on all respondents (no information was recorded for 2 cases)

146 Survey questions: In the last Lok Sabha Election some people were able to cast their
vote, while others were unable to. How about you? Were you able to cast your vote or
not?; During the election people do various things like organising election meetings,
joining processions, contributing m oney... to help a party or a candidate. Did you do any
such things yourself during the election campaign?; Are you member o f a political party?

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Table 6.3: Political participation in Uttar Pradesh
Caste/Community Voted in 1999 Participated in Member of a Number
LS election election political party
campaign
Upper Castes 90% 32% 9% 343
Yadavs 84% 28% 1 0 % 1 0 2

OBCs 84% 2 2 % 5% 344

Scheduled Castes 91% 23% 6% 272
Muslim 92% 23% 2% 209
Other 93% 24% - 40
All 89% 26% 6 % 1310
Source: National Election Study 1999, Centre for the Study of Developing Societies Data Unit,
Delhi.

Table 6.4 shows how interested people in Mathura are in politics and public
affairs. 1 4 7 Overall, 27 per cent of the sample said they were very interested. The
Yadavs and Scheduled castes were the two most interested groups, with 39 per
cent and 41 per cent respectively saying they were very interested in politics.
However, if we look at all the people who said that they were either very
interested, or somewhat interested, in politics, then the Yadavs, with 70 per cent,
are significantly more likely than average to be politically engaged. The material
on Yadav political behaviour mirrors the existence of a strong culture of political
participation. In the last twenty years the latter has been shaped both by the
activities of the Yadav caste associations and by the ‘local political’ battle for the
pursuit of power. In the next section I explore the particular relation between
Yadavs and the Samajwadi Party and how this is intertwined with the ideology
propagated by the AIYM.

147 Survey Question: Leaving aside the period o f elections, how much interest would you
say you have in politics and public affairs?

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Table 6.4: Political interest, Sadar Bazaar
Caste/Community A great deal of Some interest No interest at Number
interest all
Upper castes 2 0 % 31% 49% 75
Yadavs 39% 30% 30% 6 6

OBC 30% 1 0 % 60% 1 0

Scheduled Castes 41% 18% 41% 2 2

Muslim 1 2 % 2 2 % 6 6 % 41
Other 30% 1 0 % 60% 1 0

All 27% 26% 47% 224

Source: Mathura Survey
Notes: Table entries based on all respondents (no information was recorded for 1 case)

‘Symbolic’ representation and ‘electoral’ representation in Ahir

Para

In their political speeches, Yadav politicians often relate themselves and their
political agenda to Lord Krishna and his ‘socialist* deeds. This is an example
extracted from a speech by Laloo Prasad Yadav:

‘So Lord Krishna, our god was known as makhan cor (butter thief)
and when Laloo was seated on Bihar’s throne, he was blamed as a
ghas-cor (the grass thief). I repeat they blame me as a Grass thief. I
ask you to have a glance all around - whether it is a village in Uttar
Pradesh.. .in every police station.. .you will find Laloo’s name as thief
of grass. They want to stop the success of the heirs of Krishna!’(Laloo
Prasad Yadav, AIYM Convention, Vaishali-New Delhi, 26 December
1999).148

As illustrated during the Kamsa Festival performance (see Chapter 5) the

participants made explicit links between themselves and their ancestor Krishna,
and between the latter and Mulayam Singh Yadav. Likewise, when Mulayam
Singh Yadav was appointed Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh in 1993,1 was told
that all the Yadavs of Sadar Bazaar celebrated in the streets of the neighbourhood
by screaming ‘I am Mulayam’. Such ‘identifications’ are in line with the AIYM
ideology, which portrays the Yadav samaj as a ‘natural’ community with ‘natural’
representatives. To quote Spencer: ‘what we have is a kind of politics in which

148 In this quote Mr Laloo Prasad Yadav is referring to the ‘grass scam’ in which he was

implicated in the mid-nineties.

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the force of the idea of “representation” had connected it to other areas of popular
culture’ (Spencer 1997: 12).

In the specific ethnographic case of Ahir Para such ideas are connected to
the local understanding of the relation between Krishna and Yadav political icons,
and between local heroes’ cults and contemporary hero-politicians (see Chapters
4 and 5) . 1 4 9 In Yadav local mythology and local cults, hero-gods who protect and
defend the weaker people and the cows, are an overwhelming presence. This idea
of ‘representation’ has been locally reinterpreted in a language which has roots in
Yadav re-invented ‘democratic’ political traditions. Accordingly, as a symbol of
the Yadav community, Mulayam Singh Yadav embodies those he represents, and
at the same time those he represents embody him. This kind of ‘representation’
can be independent from elections. Yadav representatives represent Yadavs
primarily because they themselves are ‘Yadav’ and not solely because they are
elected to do so. The actual voting is not always considered indispensable.

The political ethnography of Ahir Para partly supports such ideas of

representation. In Ahir Para the majority of the Yadavs who belong to a political
party are members of the SP. Overall, of the Yadavs who said that there is ‘only
one party for their caste’, 93 per cent named the SP as being that party (1999
Mathura Election Study). Similarly, in Uttar Pradesh as a whole, in the 1999
general elections, 77 per cent of the Yadavs voted for the SP, and 6 6 per cent of
the Yadavs think that Mulayam Singh Yadav should be the prime minister of
India (NES 1999, CSDS).

Such attachment is empirically expressed when factions within the

community come together in the name of Mulayam Singh and of the Yadav
community. Such an instance is well illustrated by the ethnography of the milk
strike presented in the following section. However, as the ethnography of the
municipality and parliamentary elections will show, caste/party attachment is not
fixed (D. Gupta 2000). Despite the emphasis on homogeneity and unity presented
by the local caste associations, local Yadavs are also extremely divided.
Competition, rivalry, and divergence between different lineages, clans and

149 For the cultural importance o f heroes in Indian politics see Dickey (1993) and Price
(1989).

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factions are endemic. Amongst Mathura Yadavs there is, therefore, an ongoing
tension between the unity of the community and its endemic factionalism and
heterogeneous interests, and this is reflected in their voting behaviour.

Factions and rivalries

In Ahir Para there are basically three factions which are more or less defined by
kinship: the ‘Netaji Parivar’, the ‘Dudh Parivar’ and the ‘Chaudhri Parivar’.
Generally, members of a faction are not individual households but minimal or
maximal lineages. Although active faction membership is confined to men, the
women are not completely excluded. Women whose husbands belong to different
factions are not supposed to talk to each other, even if they come from the same
natal place.

In the long term, factions and alliances do not stay fixed (see Rao 1970:
167-215). During my twenty-month fieldwork, Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar Yadavs
were divided in two stable factions: the members of the Chaudhri Parivar and
their allies, and the members of the Dudh and Netaji Parivars and their allies. The
allied castes were composed of other Yadav clans and other castes which were
linked with the main factions by patron-client relations. As will become clear in
the following sections, the neat divide between the Chaudhri Parivar, Dudh
Parivar and Netaji Parivar was determined by the battle for the pursuit of local
power.

Factions and their allies seek to promote their own interests and activities
rather than those of their community as a whole. Among each faction, members
have close interactions. They go to the same akhara, the same ‘chicken and
whisky’ picnics and the same tea stalls. Members consult each other on matters
related to business and marriage. In particular, it is during the process of marriage
arrangement that cooperation and solidarity between members of the same faction
become most visible. By custom, the most prominent men of a faction visit the
family of the ‘prospective’ bride ‘to check’ their background. Marriage
arrangements thus rely on the approval of faction members. At the marriage
ceremonies, those who belong to hostile factions are not invited.

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 On a day-to-day basis, members of the different factions spend a great
deal of time gossiping (gap-sap) about members of rival factions and making
‘plans’ to put them in a bad light. For example, two months after my arrival in
Ahir Para my bicycle was stolen from in front of the house of the leader of the
Chaudhri Parivar. Members of the Chaudhri Parivar immediately blamed the
members of the Dudh and Netaji Parivars. They said the theft should warn me
about the bad nature of the other two factions. They are thieves (cor), I was told.
By the same token, members of the Dudh and Netaji Parivars told me that this
episode should open my eyes to the ‘bad’ (badmash) and ‘criminal’ nature of the
Chaudhri Parivar. According to them, nobody in Sadar Bazaar would have the
courage to steal from the house of such a powerful man in broad daylight. In their
opinion, only a member of the Chaudhri Parivar could have done it; ‘to put us in a
bad light’. The bicycle episode is one of many disputes which, most of the time,
were created ‘out of nothing’ to maintain and feed hostilities and rivalries
between the different factions. On many occasions these disputes sparked violent
confrontations, which mainly took the form of lathi fights between the young
males.

Rivalry manifests itself not only between different factions but also within
factions. Non-Yadav informants often told me that amongst Ahir Para/Sadar
Bazaar Yadavs there was no recognised leader because every Yadav wants to be
the chief. On several occasions local Banias made fun of their Yadav neighbours’
endless rivalry. They said that each Yadav believes he is Mulayam Singh Yadav
and wants to be the boss. 1 5 0 This internal competition is expressed daily by
‘talking badly’ about everyone who is perceived as a competitor. This internal
rivalry is, however, accompanied by a strong pride in being Yadav which on
particular occasions enhances a strong caste /community solidarity.

Rallying around the milk: the opening of the election

campaign, parliamentary elections 1999

150 D. Gupta (1997: 154) describes how also amongst the Jats o f Western Uttar Pradesh,
every Jat thinks o f himself as a chaudhry (headman).

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The political ethnography of the milk strike held in Ahir Para at the beginning of
the election campaign for the 1999 Lok Sabha elections sheds light on how caste
consciousness shapes active political mobilisation and how active politics informs
a sense of commonality amongst the Yadavs. It shows the complex web of
motives that influence individuals’ decision-making. Both material interests and
considerations of caste are present. Quasi-ethnic caste sentiments are strong
because local people realise that there are ‘real gains to be made by those who act
on a vision of caste as a bond of entitlement and moral allegiance’ (S. Bayly
1999: 348).

Due to the political character of the strike I was not able to participate
directly in the ‘actual’ rallies, which were characterised by stopping the public
dairy vans from entering the town, violent actions towards the drivers of the milk
trucks, and finally by an animated procession which ran from the centre of the
town to the District Magistrate’s (DM) residence. I was only able to observe these
events from a distance. I integrate this passive ‘observation’ with information
gathered from discussions, both overheard and provoked, during the week of the
milk mobilisation as well as during the previous and subsequent weeks. Finally,
the data collected at various local caste association meetings held in the three
weeks before the milk demonstration proved to be particularly insightful in
understanding how the strike became a source of caste solidarity.

The ethnography of the milk strike attempts to explore how competition,

divergences and rivalries coexist and paradoxically reinforce Yadavs’ sense of
unity and commonality. The milk strike is one of the events in which the local
Yadavs acted as a united community. Internal cleavages like lineages, clans,
economic and political affiliations were put firmly in the background. During the
strike and collective protests associated with it, members of the Yadav
community with no personal material interest in the economy of milk and with
different political affiliations found it ‘natural’ to join hands with the
economically lower milk vendors from the countryside and to attack the public
dairies, symbolically associated with the BJP government and the local Bania
caste.

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The organisation of the strike and the Samajwadi Party

In the last week of July 1999, the Uttar Pradesh BJP government stepped up the
campaign against the production of adulterated milk. The campaign developed
after different district administrations received a number of complaints that
adulterated milk was being supplied in the markets. Soon after, the Anti­
adulteration Act was implemented and raids were carried out on the premises of
dairy-owners and milk dealers in several districts in U.P. 1 5 1

In response to this action the president of the Samajwadi Party, Mulayam

Singh Yadav, called for an all-Uttar Pradesh milk strike and asked his supporters
to stop the public dairy vans from entering the towns, and to pour the milk into
the rivers. The local newspapers published pictures of a ‘white’ Ganga river and
described how Mulayam Singh Yadav was preparing the ground for his election
campaign. The Lok Sabha elections were in fact called for mid-September.
Demonstrations in support of the milk vendors (the dudh-vala) were organised
throughout Uttar Pradesh. Mathura’s Samajwadi Party units also quickly entered
into action.

Although the Samajwadi Party is not politically strong in Mathura

constituency, Mulayam Singh Yadav’s party is extremely vocal in Mathura town.
During fieldwork, many local issues were politicised and manipulated by the local
Yadav Samajwadi Party activists and taken as occasions for demonstrations,
strikes or squatting. As mentioned in the introductory chapter, the political
activism of the SP makes the Yadav community extremely visible and, I suggest,
makes it appear numerically strong and powerful.

The ideology of the Samajwadi Party is in some ways complementary to

that espoused by the AIYM. The SP network provides dynamism to the quasi­
ethnic discourse developed by Yadav caste associations and ‘historians’. Yadav
caste political rhetoric is centred upon the construction of ‘Yadav essences’.
Contemporary Yadavs are conceived as heirs of the qualities and skills of their
Yadava ancestors. By the same token, charismatic Yadav political leaders tell

151 Hindustan Times, 3 August 1999.

279
ordinary Yadavs that if they want they can become like ‘Mulayam’. They say that
in every Yadav there is a ‘Mulayam’, i.e. every Yadav has a predisposition for
politics. However, SP politicians explicitly say that these predispositions need to
be brought out by action. Yadav politicians ask their caste mates to assert
themselves, to be proud of being Yadav. To gain self respect (samman) and
dignity (man-samman) is their motto.

In their speeches local leaders of the Samajwadi Party emphasise the party
opposition to the ‘communalist’ BJP and to the ‘corrupt’ Congress. Attention is
focused on how these parties betray the ‘ordinary’ people, the poor people. The
Samajwadi Party presents itself as a party that defends the interests of the poor
and weak and helps them gain self respect.

A.P. Yadav, one of the prominent Yadav political leaders of Ahir Para,
was in charge of the organisation of the strike in Mathura. He is currently the
district president of the Samajwadi Party unit in Mathura town and he is also the
president of the Uttar Pradesh Yadav Mahasabha. In the main entrance of his
house there is a big picture of him with Mulayam Singh Yadav. Many consider
his personal friendship with Mulayam his primary source of power and wealth.
A.P. Yadav is the leading personality of the ‘Netaji Parivar’, one of the Yadav
factions in the neighbourhood of Ahir Para.

The atmosphere between the different factions in the neighbourhood was

often incredibly tense, and violent confrontations between them regularly
occurred during my fieldwork. The battle for economic and political resources
was the cause of most of the disputes. Ahir Para Yadavs are also politically
divided. Despite the fact that in Ahir Para the majority of Yadavs who belong to a
political party are members of the Samajwadi Party, and the majority of Yadavs
who feel close to a political party feel close to the Samajwadi Party, a substantial
number are also supporters of the BJP and Congress.

The milk strike was undoubtedly a Samajwadi Party political mobilisation

and at the local level the ‘Netaji Parivar’ was at the helm of organising the
protest. The day the strike was called I met A.P. Yadav in front of the DM’s
office. He was waiting to obtain permission to organise a demonstration in
support of the U.P. Yadavs (interestingly, he did not say ‘in support of the milk

280
vendors or the SP’). He told me that ‘Sahib’ (Mulayam) had asked his State party
units to intensify their agitation against the U.P. ‘communalist’ government. He
showed me a ‘circular’ written by the State SP chief in Lucknow. The letter called
for the immediate cessation of milk supply in the city. It asked all the district and
city party units to step up their agitation against the BJP Government until the
“harassment by police and other official agencies was brought to an end”. A.P.
Yadav added that state and police officials were harassing milk vendors in
Mathura on the pretext of samples taken from other places in U.P. He said that
policemen and other officials were harassing milkmen coming with their milk
cans from the villages to the town. He added that he had just met some Yadavs
from the nearby countryside who told him that every day they had to give Rs.70
to the police, otherwise they were threatened with jail. Bribing helped them
escape the sample testing but those who didn’t pay up had their supplies tested. ‘I
don’t know what tests they conducted but they said that my milk was adulterated’,
said one village milkman who was accompanying A.P. Yadav: ‘finally I had to
bribe them otherwise they would have put me in jail’.

A.P. Yadav said that the milk issue was a great opportunity to embarrass
the BJP government. The parliamentary elections were very close and this ‘milk
issue’ was a good way of starting the election campaign, ‘this issue will help the
SP to consolidate the Yadav vote’. He also added that the campaign against
adulterated milk was a conspiracy organised by the high castes and the BJP ‘to
crush' them (the Yadavs). He accused the BJP of conspiring against the part-time
milk producers and defending the interests of the big milk dairies patronised by
the BJP itself. At the same time, he made it clear that his party favoured a
complete ban on the manufacture of adulterated milk, which, he said, posed
serious health problems. He admitted that the part-time milk vendors could dilute
milk by adding water to increase the quantity. ‘But they do not manufacture
adulterated milk’, and he accused the big dairies of being responsible for its
manufacture.

The same evening I went to Ahir Para and saw the local milk vendors
milking their cows and buffaloes as usual. However, they informed me that they
were firmly behind the strike. I then asked them what they were going to do with
their milk and they promptly replied that they were going to sell it. ‘I thought you

281
were on strike’, I said. ‘Yes we are, but the demand for milk is high at the
moment, and we will be able to sell it for an expensive price on the black market,
but technically we are on strike’, a milk vendor said. I asked if they were being
harassed by the police and they looked at me in disbelief: ‘of course not, in Ahir
Para nobody dares to bother us, as you know in Sadar Bazaar thana (police
station) most of the police officers are Yadavs and they protect us’. It was soon
clear to me that the milk vendors of Ahir Para were not participating in the strike
because they were being ‘harassed’ or because they had to pay bribes to police
officers. They said that they were supporting the protest because they wished to
support their caste-fellows from the countryside who were not allowed to do their
job in peace. S.G. Yadav, one of largest producers of milk in Ahir Para, said that
all Ahir Para Yadavs were backing the strike, despite the fact that the majority
were not milk-sellers.

The same evening an informal gathering was held in the courtyard of A.P.
Yadav’s house. The purpose of the meeting was to organise and coordinate the
protest to be held on the outskirts of the town the following day. The aim of the
protest was to stop the Public Dairy vans and to pour the milk into the Yamuna
river. The local SP party workers and activists and three leaders from the nearby
villages were present at the gathering. Ten young Yadavs who belonged to the
Youth branch of the MYS, joined the meeting and enthusiastically signalled their
availability to participate in the demonstrations planned for the next day. Hari
Singh Yadav, one of their leaders and an active member of the BJP, emphasised
that what was at stake for him was the reputation of the Yadav community. He
added that the demonstration would remind the allegedly anti-Yadav government
that the Yadavs were not to be trifled with, and that the authorities should not
think that Yadavs were push-overs. By moving together aggressively and
displaying their militancy in public space they wished to signal their power and
strength. They felt that they had an opportunity to show off their lathis (sticks).
This desire to fight the authorities and to ‘do exciting and risky actions’ was
accompanied by a verbally expressed commitment to defend the weaker
cowherders and milk-sellers from the injustices of the government and the upper-
caste BJP officers.

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 ‘We will strike to support our village brothers. Tomorrow we will all go to
the demonstration organised by the SP’, a young boy who had nothing to do with
the milk business and was himself an active member of the BJP told me. I was
quite surprised by this display of support, given the proximity of the election
campaign, and the fact that the SP politicisation of milk was above all an anti-BJP
action. However, for many of the participants in the meeting, the strike was an
anti-upper caste action and therefore only indirectly an anti-BJP one. The upper-
castes were mainly identified with the Bania merchant and business community.
They were the ones who had the monopoly of the big private dairies as well as the
management of the public ones. The Bania community in Uttar Pradesh is a solid
BJP vote bank and consequently anti-Bania and anti-BJP sentiments fused
together and united Yadavs with different political views.

What was extremely surprisingly was to see members of the ‘Chaudhri

Parivar’ and the ‘Dudh Parivar’ giving their support to A.P. Yadav and indirectly
to the ‘Netaji Parivar’ despite their disputes and rivalry. During the gathering
Balbir Singh Yadav, a leading member of the ‘Chaudhri Parivar’, improvised a
speech. The following is an extract from his talk.

‘the milk-strike is a Yadav issue; political differences and personal

quarrels do not count. We all descend from Krishna, and our dharma
is to be cowherders, to protect the cow and as Kshatriyas to protect
the weaker sections of the society’.

This statement was warmly cheered by the audience. Young modem minded
Yadavs, old milk vendors and middle-aged new businessmen engaged in
transportation, construction businesses and moneylending all agreed that the issue
of milk was a caste issue and that they had to support it.

Talking about the strike

The themes of the speeches delivered during the gathering were quite close in
content to the conversations I overheard in Ahir Para during the week of the milk
mobilisation. Caste action was believed to be the answer to the problems faced by
the milk vendors. Quite a number of people were outraged at the newspaper

283
reports which informed them about the number of people arrested under the Anti­
adulteration Act, and about the tons of adulterated milk which had been found to
contain traces of glucose and urea. Ahir Para Yadavs kept on pointing out how
local milk vendors did not adulterate their milk and how big public dairies were
the ones to be blamed. 1 5 2

Most people were of the opinion that Mulayam Singh Yadav made the
right decision to ask people to pour the milk of the public dairies into the rivers. It
was considered a good way to teach the government a lesson. In Mathura, in the
Trans-Yamuna area, Yadav milk vendors were supported by the SP social leaders.
A group of Ahir Para residents seized milk from a public dairy van, poured it into
the Yamuna and forcefully stopped milkmen who were coming to town to sell
their milk. A group of Ahir Para Yadavs, aged between seventeen and twenty-
five, returned from their ‘expedition’ in the Trans-Yamuna to recount to their
friends how they ‘had taught the sarkar (government) a lesson’. They were
excited and they did not see anything wrong in the violent acts they had just
performed. There was an almost unanimous consensus about the fact that there
was a conspiracy against the Yadavs, and it was alleged that the state government
had launched a misinformation campaign against milkmen. This made many
people think that the honour and reputation of the community needed to be
defended. Arun Yadav (moneylender, 20 years old) said: ‘We have a reputation to
defend. In Sadar Bazaar, and in Mathura, everybody respects us, they are afraid of
us. We are not scared to use muscle power’.

I encountered very few dissenting voices. A number of Yadavs said that

Mulayam Singh Yadav was very cunning to instrumentally exploit the issue of
milk to mobilise Yadav votes for the next election. The discussions often
switched between the milk strike and the coming elections. A highly critical old
Yadav said that Yadavs always follow Mulayam. ‘What benefits did we have
during his CM tenure? Everybody knows he helps only the people of Etawah’ (his
own natal area). This statement aroused several critiques. ‘After all he is one of

152Amar Ujala, 31 July 1999; Amar Ujala, 1 August 1999; Amar Ujala, 2 August 1999;
Time of India, 31 July 1999; The Hindustan Times, 5 August 1999.
153 Hansen (2001: 232) points out that to destroy public properties during political rallies
is in India entirely accepted and rarely considered a punishable crime.

284
us, he tended cows as we did and he will protect us’, said a taxi driver (50 years

On August 4, people assembled at Holi Gate to start the procession to the

DM’s house. Ahir Para Yadavs arrived at Holi Gate in different groups. Members
of all the three main factions were present. Yadavs from the countryside and from
other Mathura neighbourhoods joined the procession as well. The red and green
colours of the SP flag were everywhere. From the microphones the music of
popular Hindi movies was accompanied by songs which glorify Mulayam Singh
Yadav and the Samajwadi Party manifesto. The SP anthem was played and re­
played at high volume. Different tunes from famous ‘bollywood movie’
soundtracks were dubbed with the following lines:

‘The Socialist Flag, carries the history of sacrifices, it reflects the

aspirations of Lohia and Gandhi; it shares the grief of the poor,
hardworking people, the farmers and ordinary people, friends of all
religions, women, students and soldier...the socialist flag...(four
times) Red colour signifies revolution and youth, green colour
signifies prosperity; the crimson new morning is accompanied by the
greenery of the new crop; assorted are our civilizations; capable to
maintain world peace; Id and Diwali are no different; this Socialist
Flag; it is an umbrella to democracy, self-esteem and independence;
caution! The foreign financial investments are destruction of India;
the hands in whose control the time has handed over the reins of
defence; his name is Mulayam Singh, whose determination is as
strong as iron; it is a land of the great soldiers who have sacrificed
their lives, augments its respect; hoist it to the maximum possible
height in the sky; its place is temple, place of worship, shrine - light
its candle in every home; sing its song of pride in all languages in one
tone; this is the socialist flag’ (SP party anthem, election campaign
1999).

Before the departure of the procession several speeches were delivered. J.N.
Yadav mobilised the audience by saying that Krishna had also successfully
organised milk strikes in Mathura and local Yadavs should be proud of following
the deeds of their ancestor. This type of rhetoric, which emphasises the link
between the god Krishna and the Yadavs, not only found expression in the verbal
speeches which preceded the manifestation but also in the political rituals of the
procession itself. During the procession to the DM’s headquarters the participants
shouted out SP party slogans and chants of Jai Sri Krishna! Jai Yadav! As I
mentioned before, I was not allowed to participate in the demonstration and I
observed it from a distance on the margins of the road. Together with me there

285
were many other persons who were curiously watching what was happening.
From the crowd I overheard numerous comments which recognised the unity of
the Yadavs as well as their bellicose and aggressive outlook. An old businessman
commented on the procession by saying that when they felt threatened, the
Yadavs knew how to act as an ekta samaj (a united community). A Brahman man
in his thirties told a friend who was accompanying him that when he was at I.P.
College in Mathura one of his companions slapped a Yadav and the day after all
of Ahir Para waited for him outside the school and beat him up. ‘They base their
strength on muscle power, they are goondas, he added.

During the procession, the Yadavs certainly displayed an aggressive

image. They brandished their lathis and shot their guns in the air. This militant
display contributed to the building up of their local aggressive image, which made
local Yadavs appear as ‘intimidating’ and ‘numerous’. The crowd walked for two
kilometres and at the end of the procession a delegation of Yadav and SP leaders
met the DM. They demanded the proper collection of milk samples. After
prolonged negotiations an agreement was reached between the administration and
the representatives of the milkmen. It was agreed that the police would have no
role in the collection of samples. The milk vendors, on assurance from the District
Magistrate, called off their strike on August 4, and the Yadavs of Ahir Para
ceased ‘to defend’ their community.

Why did people participate in the strike? Why did Yadavs affiliated to the
BJP participate in the strike? Why did members of the different factions join
hands? In the following sections, I attempt to answer these questions by exploring
how caste solidarity is constructed in everyday life in Ahir Para and how different
resources (economic, institutional and cultural) facilitated participation in the
strike and political activity in general. I analyse the political rhetoric of the local
Yadav caste associations, the local antagonism between the Yadav and the Bania
community and finally Yadavs’ understanding of what ‘the political’ means and
what it means to participate in politics.

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Caste Association and Yadav-Bania antagonism

To begin with I explore why the milk issue managed to successfully mobilise
Yadavs who were not engaged in the cowherding profession. The Ahir/Yadavs
have been traditionally associated with cowherding. While other peasant castes do
own cows, the tasks of tending and breeding cows, keeping cow herds and taking
them out for grazing and looking after their health are traditional duties of the
Ahirs. Yet, in the past and in the present, only a small proportion of them were or
are engaged in specialised pastoral activities (see Sopher 1975).

Despite this, the cowherding profession plays an important role in the

politics of Yadav community formation. The claim to descend from Krishna ‘the
cowherder god’ justifies the creation of fictive kinship relations between different
pastoral castes and legitimises the process of Yadavisation. In the constitution of
the AIYM, it is specified that ‘the word Yadav includes those who claim their
descent from Krishna and those who were traditionally engaged in the pastoral
profession’ (AIYM 1984: 6 ). The pastoral occupation, therefore, plays an
important role in the ideology of the All India Yadav Mahasabha and similarly it
is also a source of caste pride. Hence, Krishna the lord of the herdsmen (Govinda)
is still present in Yadav caste rhetoric. However, his lover career is again
forgotten. Krishna with the flute appears with his ‘wife’ Radha, or with a cow. He
does not appear surrounded by the Gopi lovers. Radha is depicted as a ‘wife’ not
a mistress. More often Krishna with the flute is represented as the protector of
cows. It is in this version that Krishna-the-cowherder is present in Yadav political
rhetoric (see Plate 19).

For instance, Laloo Prasad Yadav, the ex-Chief minister of Bihar, loves to
present himself as a rustic ‘cowherder’ politician. He likes to give interviews to
the national press while tending his cows and buffaloes, and describes himself as
an avatar of the god Krishna. By the same token, Mulayam Singh Yadav’s
biographical anecdotes, published in the press or in Yadav caste literature, always
portray his childhood as resembling that of Krishna. He grew up amongst
cowherders and was a mischievous child who loved sports like wrestling. The
cowherder heritage is strategically emphasised to their political audience.

287
Plate 19: Krishna and Radha (AIYM Convention, 1999)

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Rich Yadav businessmen in Delhi also proudly showed me their farms in the
countryside where they keep buffaloes and cows and where during the weekend
they play the cowherder game. They proudly say that being rich does not make
them forget their origins and their traditional skills. The Yadavs are not only
proud of their genealogical link with Krishna the cowherder but also of the
animals that they rear. In India the species of animal a caste domesticates has a
bearing on its social status and since the cow is at the top of the animal hierarchy
the Yadavs consequently think that they must have a high ritual status. Their
‘pastoral knowledge’ is also a matter of caste pride. 1 5 4 ‘We are a caste of
cowherders and politicians’ they like to point out, ‘it is our work therefore, we
know it best’. They consider these skills to be acquired through birth (see Chapter
5). Ahir Para Yadavs who are not involved in the pastoral profession say that they
were bom knowing how to deal with the herd: ‘we learn it the womb’. The
pastoral profession is perceived by members of the Yadav community as the
privileged dharma of the Yadavs and one of the symbols of Yadav cultural
distinctiveness.

During fieldwork I soon became aware of the symbolic salience of the

herd. In order to collect economic data on cattle trading I bought a pet buffalo at
the local cattle fair. This purchase was enthusiastically cheered by Ahir Para
Yadavs who interpreted it is as a sign that I was a ‘Yadav’. Throughout my study
they kept on asking me if I belonged to an Italian Yadav community. When I told
them that I came from a village in the Alps where there used to be many
cowherders, Ahir Para residents said that I must have had a cowherder ancestor
and that therefore I was descended from Krishna as well. The small buffalo,
named Stella, turned out to be a useful passport to the Yadav community and
exploring their ideas of descent.

Besides disseminating a rhetoric centred on the unity of all the ‘sons of

Krishna’ with a pastoral tradition, the AIYM and Yadav politicians also promoie
the Dairy Industry and the implementation of development programmes which
aim to defend the interests of pastoral people. Yadav social and political leaders

154 For comparative ethnographic data on the subject see Srivastava (1997).

289
lobby the state and the central government to defend the interests of the cowherds
and milk-sellers as well as to support the ‘cow-protection movement’.

The Yadav caste meetings held in Kanpur and in Ahir Para a month before
the strike empirically illustrate how the pastoral rhetoric of the AIYM is deployed
and assimilated in Mathura and how it influenced the dynamics of the strike.
Moreover, it shows how Yadav caste association meetings enhance unity in the
community in a successful way. At the end of June 1999, the Uttar Pradesh Yadav
Sabha regional meeting took place in Kanpur. This meeting was carefully
organised in Mathura. Local newspapers advertised the regional meeting and the
MYS organised three informal gatherings in Ahir Para to organise the trip to
Kanpur. These meetings were reported in the local newspapers Amar Ujala, Aj
and Danik Jagran. 1 5 5 This is an example of how vernacular media are heavily
used by the local Yadav caste association and of how important printing material
is in placing the Yadav community in the public arena. The members of the
Samajwadi Party were the most active in organising the regional meeting whose
main agenda was to discuss the proposition of the central government to eliminate
the so-called ‘creamy layer’ of the OBCs from the reservation programme (see
Chapter 2). Fifty people from Ahir Para went to Kanpur. On their return, the MYS
organised a meeting to discuss the resolutions approved in Kanpur and to update
the persons who did not manage to attend the meeting.

A.P. Yadav, the organiser of the strike, is a leading member of the Netaji
Parivar. He is highly involved in the elite politics of the AIYM and had a pivotal
role in the organisation of the Kanpur meeting. Members of the Chaudhri Parivar
and Dudh Parivar went to Kanpur as well. Interestingly in Kanpur (or at other
regional meetings), members of the different factions who hardly speak to each
other in Mathura, look like a compact and solid group lobbying for common
interests and trying to portray their delegation as the best one. Regional meetings
contribute, therefore, to create a sense of commonality and solidarity between the
different Yadav subdivisions and factions. During the Kanpur regional meeting,
different social and political leaders emphasised how it was important to act like a

155 Aj, 20 April, 1999; Amar Ujala, 23 May, 1999; Aj, 2 May 1999; Aj, 18 May 1999;
Danik Jagran, 25 May 1999; Aj, 25 May 1999.

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united community. It was acknowledged that Yadav internal rivalries were
endemic and ancestral. Leaders tend to joke about this aspect of ‘Yadav culture’
and the audience usually respond by laughing. It almost appears that Yadavs are
proud of their internal competitions and feud-like conflicts. For most it is further
evidence that they are fighters and ‘political animals’: bom to compete and rule.
As A.P. Yadav said to me, politics after all, is about quarrels and fights and
Yadavs are undoubtedly masters of that because they spend their life competing
with their brothers. Social leaders are well aware of these divisions and encourage
external unity. One of the resolutions approved in Kanpur emphasised how
Yadavs should act in the political arena as a united community.

‘The Yadavs should unanimously choose the political party that will
work for the development of the Yadav community. The Mahasabha
strongly discourages the nomination of more than one Yadav
candidate per constituency. This is to avoid Yadavs losing energy in
fighting each other. In no circumstance should votes be given to one
who does not serve the interests of the community in particular and
the weaker section of the society in general’ (Uttar Pradesh Yadav
Mahasabha Convention, Resolutions, 1999, Kanpur, 5-6 June 1999).

By the same token, it was emphasised that the Yadav community had to oppose
the harassment of the police towards Yadav milk-sellers. The following is the
approved resolution:

‘Cattle rearing rights: police officers do not allow the rearing of cows
and buffaloes in urban areas. A cow or a buffalo caught in one of
these areas is captured, and the owner must pay a fine in order to have
his animal back. We demand more land for our herds.
The price of fodder: the cost of fodder is increasing day by day. We
demand fodder at seasonal prices. Milk prices should be amended
according to the period of the year and should be changed every 6
months (price Rs. 20 per litre)
Adulterated Milk: we soundly complain about the process of checking
adulterated milk. They said that the police usually ask for bribes from
‘innocent’ milkmen in return for not deeming their milk adulterated,
and claimed widespread police harassment of Yadav shopkeepers and
milkmen. We demand that the corrupt officers should be punished and
strictly treated by the administration’.

At the end of June, Kanpur’s resolutions were discussed in a local meeting in Ahir
Para. Members of Ahir Para’s different factions attended this meeting even if it
was led by the Netaji Parivar. All the main local political leaders participated; and
they mostly attended the meeting because they wished to check what the others

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had to say or to establish their position as men of power. They all arrived with
their followers, namely lineage or clan kin linked to them by patronage ties.

Since most of the participants were not involved in the milk business the
discussions in these meeting revolved mainly around social and political issues
rather than economic ones. Not surprisingly, what caught the attention of the
participants was the harassment of the Yadavs by the police. The SP leader
expressed his grievances by saying how this was obviously an anti-SP and anti
Yadav action.

‘The communalist BJP is afraid of the confrontation with the SP in the

next elections... they are afraid of the Yadavs!!!!’. ‘We have to act
united and to protect our kin brothers who are prevented from
working and put in jail by the BJP government’.

And then:

‘We should follow Sri Krishna. Krishna made impossible tasks

possible. His contributions in those days made the Yadav community
respectable, not only in India but even abroad. The Yadav community
should follow his path. This is the only way we can reinforce our
power... Krishna’s parents were imprisoned and their seven children
were killed by Kamsa. In the life of Krishna, his anger towards the
bad and rude persons is clearly expressed: he never tolerated the
exploitation of people and always helped the poor and oppressed and
saved women’s reputation. He killed many bad kings and often took
their kingdoms and gave them to good kings’.

The speeches quoted here show how the anti-BJP ideology of the Samajwadi
party mixes with the political rhetoric of the AIYM which portrays Krishna as a
leader of social justice. In doing so the mobilisation to strike hinted at themes that
are inscribed in the Yadav ‘ethno-historical imaginary’. The portrayal of Krishna-
the-trade-union-leader suggests to the audience that generations of Yadavs before
them have participated in milk strikes. Moreover, the multivocal symbolism of
Krishna is also used to legitimate violent acts toward the ‘enemy’ (‘He (Krishna)
killed many bad kings... ’); here we again find the violent ethos and actionist
ideology of the SP.

During the meeting the issues of cow protection and relations with the
Muslim neighbours, traditionally Kasais (butchers), were also discussed. A BJP
local activist emphasised how ‘cow protection, Dharma protection, nation

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protection were Yadav duties’ (G.S. Yadav, 25 years old and in the milk
business). He reported the story described by Munnar Yadav during the Kanpur
meeting. The story narrated the problems between Muslims and Yadavs in a
village near Delhi. G.S. Yadav ended his speech by saying that, as heirs of
Krishna, Yadavs have the duty to protect the sacred cow and stop cow slaughter.
In the meetings of the MYS, the political rhetoric of the BJP and the SP mixes
together without creating any kind of contradiction in the eyes of the participants.
A number of SP political activists were supporting the liberation of the Krishna
birthplace even if their party had a strong anti-communalist agenda. Rakesh
Yadav (30 years old, moneylender and SP activist) said: ‘The demolition of the
Babri Mosque in Ayodhya was a wrong act, but I support the liberation of
Krishnajanmabhumi. Ram is Ram but Krishna is our kuldevta’.

However, during the strike ‘the enemy’ were the big public dairies which
locally were symbolically associated with the BJP government and the local
Banias. The antagonism between the Yadavs and the merchant community
expressed during the caste meetings as well as during the strike is rooted in the
social and economic transformations that occurred in Sadar Bazaar over the last
fifty years. As mentioned previously local Yadavs improved their economic status
through shifting occupations as well as through illegal activities. The Bania is the
community that mostly resent such an economic transformation. The Yadav local
political and economic upsurge has in fact disempowered them. Sadar Bazaar’s
Bania commonly complained that they are not able to conduct their business
anymore. They complain that they have to pay ‘protection money’ to the Yadavs
in order to keep their shops open. In the villages near Mathura there is a similar
trend. Banias are often scared of travelling on certain buses. In a village near
Aligarh, the Brahmans do not set up their weekly bazaar anymore because they
said that the Yadavs do not want ‘the upper castes’ to do business there.

The Yadavs became Sadar Bazaar’s main moneylenders. Unlike the

Banias, they lend money without mortgage and thus they can be more competitive
in the market. They can apply this policy because they can make sure that their
creditors will pay them back in due time. As B. Yadav said: ‘creditors know that
we do not have water in our guns’. The Yadavs’ local economic and political
upsurge also redesigned the ritual complex of Ahir Para. In the last fifty years, the

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Yadavs of Ahir Para have begun to patronise two temples, which were previously
controlled by the local Bania community. By the same token rich Yadavs tend to
embrace Vaishnava sects, such Pusthi Marg or Gaudiya Samapraday in the same
fashion as the local business community traditionally did. Yadavs’ recent
economic and political success has also led them to consolidate their relationship
to Vedic forms of social ascription and to depict themselves as ‘Kshatriyas who
behave like Vaishyas’ (see Chapter 4). Yadavs and Banias compete, therefore, to
occupy the same space, whether it is religious, social, residential or occupational.
However, it is the Yadavs who are in the ascendant, and it is the Yadavs who are
managing to dislodge the Banias from the temples they patronise, the houses they
own, and the businesses they run and ultimately they seem to claim the same caste
status. The participation in the milk strike should be also understood as a
reminder to Banias and their BJP leaders that those with the real power now are
the Yadavs. Indirectly, it also shows how much the Yadavs’ local sense of
identity vitally rests on ‘self respect’ enforced by power and by their physical
presence in the neighbourhood.

In the previous sections, I described how social leaders tap deep-rooted

feelings of solidarity by using the symbolism of Krishna and of the cow. The
strike hinted at themes that are inscribed in the Yadav mythological past.
Ordinary people are more likely to participate in forms of action that they know
from before or to which they can relate. Moreover, as the extracts from the
speeches delivered in the meeting suggest, the institutional pressure of the caste
association which calls for a unitary behaviour, partly influenced Yadav
mobilisation. Ideology can, however, be a dry way to describe what moves people
to action. Ahir Para milk-sellers said that despite the strike they were selling their
milk and they were selling it at a higher price. Market opportunities seem,
therefore, to have motivated a number of strikers more than the need to defend
some idea of ‘Yadav-ness’. Other participants, on the other hand, felt that what
was at stake was the reputation of the community. The Yadavs’ heavy
involvement in criminal activities and their reputation for violence surely gave
many of them a quite self-interested motive for reminding the police and the
authorities that they are not to be trifled with, and that the police should not think
that they are push-overs. It can be argued that for many of them, more than caste

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solidarity it was ‘a gang solidarity’. Finally, it was the urge to obtain or to defend
a share of state resources which united the different factions of Ahir Para. What
was at stake more than the milk-vendor issue was the defence of Yadav local
power. Despite factionalism and competition a common interest united the
different ‘parivars’, namely to ensure that Yadav political power at state level
was maintained and ‘money’ and ‘resources’ kept flowing into Ahir Para.

During the strike it was precisely the defence of Yadav political power
which enhanced the solidarity of Ahir Para Yadavs. It was in the common interest
of the members of all the three factions to act in a demonstration which had not
only the purpose of defending poor milk vendors but also to highlight and
preserve the power of the Yadav community at Uttar Pradesh level. Participating
in the milk strike was also an act of support for Mulayam Singh Yadav and at the
same time a way to reinforce the links with his political network. After all it is
through these networks that Ahir Para Yadavs have access to state resources and
pursue their political careers. More than their traditional pastoral profession what
was at stake was therefore the defence of their ‘new’ profession, namely politics.

Interestingly ‘this gang solidarity’ is locally conceived of as being based

on Yadavs’ ‘innate’ capability to ‘do politics’, namely to exploit state resources.
Yadavs think that they are better at doing that than other castes. They are bom
knowing how to do it. The statements of a number of Yadavs suggest that even
their ancestral factionalism trained them to ‘do politics’. Economic and political
strategic interests are therefore framed within the emotional appeal of the
ideology of descent and caste identity. Yadavs’ protest is fought in the name of
collective identity as well as in the name of pragmatic interests. The overlap of
identity-based motivations and instmmental motivations reveal a powerful and
effective basis for political mobilisation and for reinforcing Yadav community
solidarity. The following part of the chapter further explores how such motives
work when played out in other political acts and in particular how they influence
Yadav voting behaviour.

Lok Sabha Elections 1999

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In mid-April 1999, the coalition government led by Prime Minister Atal Behari
Vajpayee of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) lost a vote of confidence in the Lok
Sabha, the lower house of Parliament, by just one vote. The BJP-led government
fell because one of its alliance partners, the All India Anna Dravida Munnetra
Kazhagam (ADMK), withdrew the support of its 18-member Lok Sabha
delegation. A week later, having made a confident attempt to put together a
majority coalition, Sonia Gandhi of the Congress Party reported her failure. At the
direction of the President, K. R. Narayanan, the cabinet requested the dissolution
of the Lok Sabha and the calling of fresh elections. These elections took place
over five waves, beginning on September 5,1999. The main contestants for
Mathura’s parliamentary constituency were the BJP, BSP, Lok Dal-Congress and
the SP. The BJP candidate, Tej Veer Singh, had won the previous elections of
1996 and 1998, and was re-elected in 1999 with a margin o f 41,727 votes over the
second placed Congress-Lok Dal candidate, Rameshwar Singh. 1 5 6

The Yadav vote was distributed between the Congress-Lok Dal, BJP and
SP. Given the support expressed for the SP during the early stages of the election
campaign, the results from the last parliamentary election in Ahir Para/Sadar
Bazaar may appear to be contradictory. According to the Mathura survey, in
1999, only 28 per cent of the Yadavs voted for the SP candidate. In 1998,
however, 58 per cent had voted for the SP. The shift in voting behaviour between
1998 and 1999 has a lot to do with local rivalries and disputes within the
community. Yadav voting behaviour makes ‘sense’ if contextualised within the
factionalised world of Sadar Bazaar’s Yadav community. Voting is used locally
to express divisions and personal interests. The SP lost support in the last general
election not because Ahir Para Yadavs were no longer close to the Party, but
because of rivalries within the community which penalised the local SP leader
and thus, indirectly, the SP. I know of people who campaigned for the SP
candidate but then did not vote for him.

156 In 1998, Tej Veer Singh (BJP) won with 48.1 per cent of the vote and beat the BSP

(18 per cent) and SP contestants (16.3 per cent). In 1996 Tej Veer Singh won against the
Congress and BSP candidates by polling 33.9 per cent of the votes. See
www.indiamap.com/elections/constituencies/mathura.htm.

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 This should be understood as a vote against the local SP leader and his
faction, the locally named ‘Netaji Parivar’ and its contemporary allies the ‘Dudh
Parivar’. Voting was used, in this case, to express rivalries. It should be added
that the fact that the SP was not competitive in the Mathura-city electoral
constituency, and that the candidate was not a Yadav, made Ahir Para Yadavs
privilege in their voting decisions clan/faction loyalties over party/caste loyalties.
A significant number of Ahir Para Yadavs who voted for the Congress candidate
campaigned for the SP during the election campaign. In particular local Yadavs
campaigned for the SP in the nearby districts of Jaleshar, Etah, Kannauj and
Farrukhabad. In these districts Yadavs have affinal and agnatic relations through
which they extend their regional political networks. The SP and the Yadav
candidates are extremely politically competitive in this part of the Yadav belt. In
1999, it was in the interest of Ahir Para Yadavs to help their ‘relatives’ who were
in constituencies where the SP and Yadav candidates had a good chance of
winning. As a matter of fact the SP candidates won in Kannauj, Etah,
Farrukhabad, Jaleshar and Mainpuri constituencies.

Going back to the election performance in Sadar Bazaar, in order to

understand the shift in Yadav voting behaviour in Ahir Para between the elections
of 1998 and 1999 one also needs to take into consideration issues that are not
explicitly linked to the political realm, but to personal economic interest and
questions of honour. The election held in September 1999 was in fact informed by
the acrimonies that arose out of two municipality elections, held, respectively, in
April 1998, and April 1999.

Municipality elections and ‘primordial factionalism9

Local municipality elections are the arena in which factionalism and personal
issues and economic interest are fought over. The pursuit of local power is driven
by the urge to obtain a share of state resources. To be a municipality
representative has its own practical advantages. To each ward representative a
certain budget is yearly assigned for the development of the local area. Allegedly,
part of this money usually ends up directly in the representative’s pocket.

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Furthermore, a ward representative has access to the state administrative machine
which provides access to government employment and to jobs or contracts. Each
of the parivars struggle, therefore, to get one of their members elected in the
Nagar Palika (municipality board). The ethnography of the municipal by-election
for Ward 2, held on 18 April 1999, shows how local elections are used to sort out
personal interests as well as questions of honour. Ward 2 includes a part of Ahir
Para. This section of the neighbourhood is better known as Regimental Bazaar
and it is under the Cantonment Board administration. There are a total of 870
registered voters in the ward. It is inhabited by Yadavs (300 votes), Dhobi (200
votes), Valmiki (75 votes), Brahmans (50 votes), Brahman-Carpenters (50 votes),
Muslims (100 votes), Christians (60 votes), and others (35 votes).

Aijun Yadav, an advocate and moneylender in his early forties and a

member of the ‘Dudh Parivar’, was elected in 1992. At the time, he defeated Shiv
Yadav, a member of the ‘Chaudhri Parivar’. In 1998 he contested again and was
beaten by seven votes by Shiv Yadav, who died six months later from a ‘heart
attack’. The ‘Chaudhri Parivar’ accused the ‘Netaji Parivar’ and the ‘Dudh
Parivar’ of killing him. The stories behind the ‘homicide’ are highly
contradictory. Needless to say, the atmosphere in Ahir Para was incredibly tense,
and violent confrontations between the different factions regularly occurred
during my fieldwork.

When the by-election campaign was finally called on 27 March 1999,

such acrimonies became even more explicit. Shiv Yadav’s son, J.B. Yadav,
contested against Aijun Yadav. Amongst the other candidates were G.S. Yadav
and V. Yadav, both local young BJP activists who tried to create a third front.
When the election campaign began all the residents got involved in it. The men of
the different factions sat outside their houses with the voting list in their hand
discussing in little groups. They had the air of planning a war and they looked as
though they were really enjoying the ‘election game’. Needless to say, all the
candidates asked me to campaign for them. They were not only thinking that my
support would have been of general benefit for them, what they were aiming to do
was mobilise the Christian votes and ‘who better than a Christian from Italy to do
it?’ Aijun Yadav said, ‘you are the Sonia Gandhi of Sadar Bazaar’.

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 The election campaign was extremely important because each vote really
mattered. The ‘Chaudhri Parivar’ was confident of being supported by all the
Yadavs of their clan (Jaweria) and by the Dhobis. The Muslims and the Harijans
were regarded as ‘Aijun’ votes. In the evening, the candidates and their followers
canvassed door to door. The ‘Chaudhri Parivar’ offered saris and fabric in
exchange for votes. Vinob Singh, an uncle of the contestant, said ‘we do not buy
votes we just make presents’. However, Aijun Yadav bought the votes of the
Harijans and Muslims for two hundreds rupees a piece. The battle for every last
vote was a matter both of honour and interest. Out of 870 votes, only five persons
did not go to vote because they were either in bad health or out of town. Such
high turn-out reflects how seriously local people took the election. J.B. Yadav
won by a margin of 52 votes.

The ‘Chaudhri Parivar’ organised a party to celebrate his victory. In the

evening, the youngest men of the parivar walked through the streets of the bazaar
screaming ‘J.B. Yadavzindabad (Tong live J.B. Yadav’) and ‘Jai Sri Krishna’
(hail the victory of Lord Krishna), while shooting in the air with their guns. The
death of J.B. Yadav’s father was partly vindicated and the honour of the family
re-established.

Winning an election, then, does not only mean gaining state resources.
These are not the only fruits of politics. It is a question of honour as well. The
passionate political participation during the municipality election campaign
mirrors, after all, the intense feeling of competition and rivalry that exists between
the different parivars. As others acknowledged, the literature on factionalism in
India often emphasises its modem side (Dumont 1997: 53). It considers factions
as responses to ‘modem’ changes. In the case of the Ahir Para Yadavs such
phenomena are not recent. Rivalries have been described as structurally endemic
in communities such as the Jats, the Gujars and the Ahirs. In western Uttar
Pradesh, competition is, likewise described as endemic: ‘As nobody within the
caste, and no caste by itself, enjoys pre-eminence, the rivalry is perennially
there.. .’(D. Gupta 1997: 166). It is plausible to suggest that the internal equality
and horizontal organisation of the Yadav community, coupled with a significant
amount of economic graduality (see Chapter 3) contributes to the high degree of
observed factionalism.

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 In Ahir Para, informants also explicitly said that rivalries within their
community are endemic and do not only concern material resources. Rivalries are
considered ancestral. Paradoxically, the same symbols of Krishna and the ancient
democratic Yadavs, which are so often mentioned as symbols of a successful and
united community, were also used locally as metaphors for expressing the
‘primordial’ origin of rivalries existing within the community. Various local tales
try to explain this ‘ancestral’ phenomenon. Most of these tales have as a
protagonist the god-ancestor Krishna and narrate how the Yadavs are the cause of
the death of their ancestor and of the endemic rivalries within their community.
Amongst these tales the most commonly known in Ahir Para is the one about the
curse of Durvasa Rishi (sage). The tale goes like this:

‘A group of Yadav children went to play nearby Durvasa Rishi. They

covered their bellies with a metal plate (tasla) and asked the Rishi
what he thought their bellies were covered with. Very annoyed, the
Rishi answered: ‘whatever it is covering your bellies, that will be the
cause of your destruction and endless battles among your people’. The
children got scared and went back to the elders and told them about
the incident. The elders said the words of the Rishi could not be
untrue and ordered the children to destroy the metal plate. With the
help of stones, the children broke it into pieces, and then into powder.
In the end, only one small piece was left, and they dropped it in the
Yamuna river. A fish then ate the metallic piece. When a fisherman
opened the fish and found the small piece of iron, he kept it and used
it as a spear to hunt animals. He went to the forest to hunt and, taking
him for an animal, by mistake he shot the toe of Krishna, who died’.

As Vinob Singh said: ‘Yadavs will never stop fighting each other, we will never
change’. Competition between different factions during the elections is, therefore,
locally perceived as an old phenomenon. If, on the one hand, formal electoral
processes are locally used to express divisions within the community, on the other
these internal divisions have also had the indirect effect of introducing
‘democracy’ to the neighbourhood. Since the 1960s, the ‘democratic’ political
socialisation of the majority of Ahir Para Yadavs has been mainly carried out by
the ‘fever’ of the municipality elections. Most Yadav males begin their political
career or interest in politics at a very young age by helping their father,
grandfather, uncle or cousin in the election campaign for the Nagar Palika. This
active participation in the local political process also introduces them to the city
and to district party politics. It is my suggestion, therefore, that the high political

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participation found amongst the Yadavs of Ahir Para partly has its roots in the
political ‘battles’ provoked by the rivalries within the community.

CONCLUSION

The concluding chapter has shown how Yadavs’ endemic factionalism, as well as
their ability ‘to do politics’ and to succeed in the democratic arena, are all locally
conceived as primordial phenomena. This perception partly informs the way in
which a number of Yadavs in Mathura town conceptualise ‘democracy’ as well as
their role in formal democratic processes. The ethnographic exploration of the
culture of political participation of the Yadavs in Ahir Para/Sadar Bazaar locality
illustrates, therefore, how ‘culture re-enters the political stage’ (Spencer 1997: 12)
in an urban neighbourhood in western Uttar Pradesh. Such an exploration
suggests that the interaction between caste and democratic political processes
cannot be reduced to simplistic models. Different castes have different economic
and political histories and different social status. However, their cultural
constitution can be different as well, and this can partly influence the way their
members engage with modem politics. The successful formation of the Yadav
community and the political activism of its members should be partly linked to
their descent-centred view of caste, to their horizontal organisation, to their
factionalism and to their cultural understandings of ‘the past’ and ‘the political’.

The analysis of ‘the Yadav archive’ illustrates how, by the end of the
nineteenth century, a (religious) discourse of patrilineal descent emerged as a very
powerful source of identity amongst the northern Indian Yadavs. The model had
the potential of transcending the extreme diversity of religious practices, marriage
patterns, spoken languages and regional cultures of different pastoral castes (Ahir,
Gopa, Goalla...) that defined themselves as Yadavs. ‘Yadav-ness’ is, in Yadav
caste rhetoric, primarily defined as a matter of descent. This rhetoric was based on
the active reshaping of Ahir indigenous folk modes of representation based on
patrilineal descent and common stock. The logic of descent intertwined with
indigenous conceptions of the relations between gods and ancestors and with
related ways of understanding ‘the past’. Indigenous notions of identity were

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reinforced and enriched by the use of new vocabulary. Yadav intellectuals
selectively used the language of science (anthropology, biology, history,
archaeology) and of governance (e.g. military classifications, administrative
categories) to refashion their community.

Hence, the Yadav community has grown out of caste groups and lineages
which had historically been equipped with particular historical and socio-cultural
features which have helped them to adapt first to the colonial caste-homogenising
processes, then to post-colonial caste classifications and finally to democratic
political dynamics (see Chapters 5 and 6 ). More specifically, the Ahir kinship
system was traditionally informed by openness and flexibility and this
characteristic meant that Ahirs never constituted a jati in a conventional sense.
Ahir/Yadav historiography depicts a ‘caste cluster’ composed by hundreds of
subdivisions occupying similar but not equal positions in the caste system. In such
a social system real and symbolic kinship bonds were informed by a descent-
centered kinship ideology.

The Ahir caste/community also had an ambiguous ritual status in the caste
hierarchy historically. Amongst the Ahir/Yadav caste we find rajas, zamindars,
sepoys and cowherders who have been conceived and categorised either as
warriors and as belonging to the Kshatriya varna, or as lower-caste and belonging
to the Shudra varna. More specifically, in Ahirwal, members of Ahir seigneurial
lineages have come to be known by the title of Rajput. I argue that the Ahirs’
ambiguous status and the fact that members of this large heterogeneous
community were (and are) recognised as a Rajput-like community made it
possible for all the Yadavs to think of themselves as a martial and valorous caste
with a Kshatriya pedigree. During the colonial time this presumed noble status
was instrumentally used by Ahirwal-Braj Ahirs to be included in the ‘martial
races’ and to be recruited in to the British Army. In post-colonial India, ‘the
Kshatriya card’ has been played to ask the Indian government for the formation of
a Yadav Regiment. In addition, it is used to depict the Yadavs as ‘natural’
politicians in the Yadav political rhetoric (see Chapter 5). Similarly, the fact that
part of the community was depicted by colonial ethnographies as low in ritual
terms and as belonging to the Shudra varna provided the Yadav community with
resources to claim OBC status in post-colonial India.

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 It was precisely this ambiguity and imprecision that helped Yadavs to
craftily ‘define’ and ‘re-define’ themselves. Hansen (2001) shows how the most
effective processes of community identity formation usually occur when the
constructed identities are in reality extremely ‘imprecise’. He argues that ‘the
politics of identity is generally driven by the paradox that no identity, no sense of
community, and no imputed property of a place ever can be self evident and
stable...’ and that ‘the efficacy of a name, and thus an identity, in terms of fixing
or accruing of meaning and connotations, depends, therefore, on its constant
performance in authoritative writings, in public speeches, images, songs, rumours
and so on’ (2001: 2-3). In the case of the Yadavs, colonial ethnography and
orientalist literature provided the material for caste histories and the development
of political writings and speeches. In addition, the essentialising nature (and
emphasis on descent and blood) of these ethnographic ‘official’ accounts had (and
have) an elective affinity with Ahir/Yadavs’ traditional descent-view of their
community, and thus it made caste forms of social classification a very effective
material for the re-definition of Yadav caste community boundaries.

In addition, the importance of the idiom of kinship over the idiom of

purity-pollution in Ahir/Yadavs’ understandings of their community has gained
extra force in a democratic political world in which political parties collect their
support by mobilising ‘horizontal’ caste blocs. Within the Ahir/Y adav community
‘substantialised’ manifestations of caste are not recent phenomena. Indeed, the
Ahir caste-cluster has been historically a substantive community of people that
shared past, myth of origin and military and martial culture. Such features
contribute to the absence of clear-cut ranking within the community and at the same
time facilitate aggregative processes through preferential hypergamous marriage
practices. Thus, the ethno-history of the Ahir/Y adavs of the Braj-Ahirwal areas
has also shown how it is highly reductive to conceptualise ‘traditional’ and
‘ethnicised’ manifestations of caste in opposition or in contradiction to each other;
and equally problematic to use terms such as ‘modem’ and ‘traditional’ to label
different ‘caste systems’, for example: vertical system (‘traditional’) versus
horizontal system (‘modem’), or organic system (‘traditional’) versus
separation/competition (‘modem’). In addition, it has shown that the decline in
the principle of purity-pollution in terms of defining endogamous caste units

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which has contributed to reinforcing Yadavs’ descent-centred kinship set of
values, has not delinked the Yadav caste/community from ‘Hinduism’. If on the
one hand ritual hierarchy has been undermined as a principle of social
stratification, on the other ‘religious’ descent still encompasses the contemporary
Yadav community and dynamically facilitates its adaptation to the modem
political world.

The substantive nature of the Yadav community, which is linked to

Krishna as a ‘substantial deity’ and to the adoption of higher form of Hinduism
(vegetarianism, abandonment of sacrifice and spirit possession and so on), helped
Ahir/Y adavs from different parts of the country to interact with one another
horizontally. Thus, such interactions are still permeated by a religious ethos.
Similarly, if on the one hand contemporary Yadavs view themselves as an
homogeneous category shaped by primordial sacred origins, their relations with
low castes are still partly regulated by the purity-pollution idiom. The pollution
barrier, which divides castes which can claim ‘clean origins’ from untouchable
castes, is still a very vivid reality (cf. S. Bayly 1999: 322-326). This is reflected
also at the macro-level by the inability to sustain alliances between Yadavs and
Dalits (see Chapter 1).

Indeed the idiom of religious descent not only frames the Yadav-Dalit
antagonisms, but also frames the rhetoric which depicts the descendants of
Krishna as privileged vessels of a moral and ‘democratic’ knowledge by the very
fact of their ancestry. Yadav ‘historians’ devote their efforts to constructing
through their narratives superior Yadav ‘essences’ rather than Yadav
chronological histories. This goal is achieved by selecting and reworking specific
qualities and skills of the god Krishna. Particular value is given to masculinity,
bravery, political skills, morality, and the abilities of statecraft, all of which are
qualities that contemporary Yadavs are said to have inherited from their ancestor
Krishna-the-warrior. Hence, folk theories of sources of knowledge linked to
indigenous conceptions of the relations between human beings (ancestors) and
gods facilitate the assimilation of a particular rhetoric and help the Yadavs to
construct their own unique view of ‘democracy’.

The Yadav idiom o f ‘democracy’ although permeated by ‘primordialism’

is not passive. Being ‘Yadav’ is not an inactive state. Indeed, if on the one hand

304
Yadav political rhetoric depicts Yadavs as ‘bom to be politicians’, on the other it
asks them to act, to participate, to assert their strength and self-respect and bring
out their ‘ancestral’ predispositions. Action is their motto. And action is also the
maxim of the SP. Ordinary Yadavs are not therefore passive recipients of a
political rhetoric which emphasises their essentialist qualities. In contrast, their
‘primordialism’ is extremely dynamic when mixed with the SP’s emphasis on
action, the organisational ability of the Yadav caste association network and
importantly their factionalism.

Thus, this thesis has shown how the ‘secret’ of Yadav community political
success lies partly in the kinship/religious traditions of its members and their
‘permanent political performance’ (Hansen 2001). Ahir/Yadavs’ cultural
constitution, together with the impressive organisational ability of the Yadav caste
association network and the imaginative political strategies of the SP, have helped
the Yadav community to adapt to the ‘modem’ political world and are at the base
of statements such as ‘we are a caste of politicians’.

305
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Web-links

Election Commission of India, www.eci.gov.in

Global Yadav Forum, www.vadav.com
Maps of India, www.mapsofindia.com and www.expendia.com
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 Appendix

Mathura Survey1

September 1999

1. How long have you lived in this town?

1. Less than 5 years 2. 5-10 years

3.10 years or more 4. Entire Life

la. (If not entire life) From which village/town did you come from?

Name of village/ Town:_____________________________________

Name of the district:_______________________________________

State: ................................

lb. Where have you lived most of your life - in a village or a town?

1. Village 2. Town 3. Both 9. Inapplicable

2. In the last Lok Sabha Election some people were able to cast their vote,
while others were unable to. How about you? Were you able to cast your
vote or not?

2. Yes 1. No 8 . Not sure

2a. (If Yes) Who did you vote for?

2b. (If not voted) Why did you not vote?

1. Did not know I was a voter

2. Out of station
3. Not well
4. Have no interest/ did not feel like voting
5. Prevented by some people from voting
6. Somebody had already voted before I went to vote
7. Fear of violence at polling station
8. Any other (specify)___________________________

1This is an English translation of the Hindi questionnaire employed in the survey.

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3. And what about the 1998 Lok Sabha elections - did you vote?

2. Yes 1. No

3a. (If Yes) Who did you vote for?_____________________

4. And what about the latest (1996) U.P. Vidhan Sabha elections - did you
vote?

2. Yes 1. No

4a. (If Yes) Who did you vote for?________________________________

5. And what about the last Municipality elections - did you vote?

2. Yes 1. No

5a. (If Yes) Who did you vote for?_____________________________

6. During the election some people do various things like organising election
meetings, joining processions, contributing money, etc. to help a party or a
candidate. Did you do any such things yourself during the election
campaign?

2. Yes 1.No

6a. (If Yes) For which Party?_________________________

6b. (If Yes) And, what did you do?

1. Helped organise election meeting

2. Joined processions
4. Participating in canvassing
8 . Distributed publicity material
16. Contributed money
32. Other (Specify)_____________________________
99. Inapplicable

7. Did any candidate, party worker or canvasser come to your house during
the campaign to ask for your vote?

2. Yes 1.No

7a. (If Yes) From which party did they come (record first three in order
mentioned)

1. __________________________

2.

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 3.

8. In deciding who to vote for, were you guided by anyone?

1. Yes 2. No

8a. (If Yes) Who was that?

1. Spouse
2. Other family members
3. Caste/community members
4. Friends/co-workers
7. Other (specify)________
9. Inapplicable

9. In today’s situation, who do you think would make the best Prime Minister
of the Country?

10. Generally speaking, do most of the people from your caste group vote for
one party or for different parties?

1. One party 2. Different Party’s 8 . D.K.

11. Do you think it is important to vote for a member of your own caste?

2. Important 1. Not important 8 . D.K.

12. Some political parties specially care for the interests of a particular caste
group or community, while others do not. How about your caste
group/community? Is there a political party that specially looks after the
interests of your caste group/community?

2. Yes 1. No 8 . D.K

12a. (If Yes) Which party

13. And is there a political party that you feel particularly close to?

1. Yes 2. No

13a. (If Yes) Which is that party?

13b. What are the things about (name party) which you like most?

331
14. And is there any political party for which you will never vote?

1. Yes 2. No

14a. (If Yes) Which is that party?__________________________

14b. What are the things about (name party) that you do not like?

15. Do you think your vote has effect on how things are run in this country, or
do you think your vote makes no difference?

3. Has effect
2. Other___________
1. Makes no difference
8. D.K

16. Now, leaving aside the period of elections, how much interest would you
say you have in politics and public affairs, a great deal of interest, some
interest, or no interest at all?

1. A great deal 2. Some interest 3. No interest

at all

17. Are you a member of a political party?

1. Yes 2. No

17a (If Yes) Which is that party?__________________________

17b (If No) Have you been a member of a political party in the past?

2. Yes 1. No

17c (If Yes) Which political party?

18. Is any member of your family a politician?

2. Yes 1. No

18a (If Yes) To which party does he/she belong?

19. Let us talk about associations and organisations other than political
parties: are you a member of any religious or caste associations?

332
 2. Yes 1. No

19a. (If Yes) What are these?

1. Caste Association 2. Religious Association

3. Other 9. Inapplicable

19b. (If Yes) How often do you attend their meetings?

O. Never 1. Regularly 2. Sometimes 3. Rarely

9. Inapplicable

20. Aside from caste and religious organisations, do you belong to any other
associations and organisations, such as co-operatives, farmer’s association,
trade unions, welfare organisations, or sports organisations?

2. Yes 1. No

20a (If Yes) What are these 1__________________________

2___________________________

3 ______ ______

21. Now lets talk about social relationships between people in Mathura.
Would you say that compared to five years ago, the relationship between
different groups of people has become more harmonious, remained the
same or has tension between these groups increased?

1. More harmonious
2. Same as before
3. Tension has increased
8. D.K.

22. Now I would like to read you some statements about the relationships
between different groups of people in this mohalla. Pease tell me whether
you agree or disagree with each of the following.

Statement Agree No Disagree

opinion
a. Tension between different religious communities
in this mohalla have decreased over the last five
years
b. Relationships between different castes have
become more harmonious over the last five years

333
c. Tension between Dalits and non-Dalits has
increased over the last five years
d. Relationships between people in this mohalla
and government officials has become more cordial
over the last five years
e. Now there is more tension between the rich and
the poor than there was five years ago
f. Compared to five years ago, life and property are
less safe now in this Mohalla than before
g. Condition of the poor has improved in this
mohalla during the last five years?

23. Have you heard of the disputed building (Babri Masjid) at Ayodhya?

2. Yes 1. No

23a. (If Yes) Some people say that the demolition was justified, while others
say it was not justified. What would you say? Was it justified or not
justified?

3. Justified 2. Can’t say/D.K. 1. Unjustified

9. Inapplicable

23b. (If heard about the demolition). What would you suggest should be built
on that site now?

1. Neither a mosque nor a temple

2. Mosque should be built
3. Temple should be built
4. Both Mosque and temple should be built
5. Any other (specify)_______________________________

24. Have you heard of the disputed building (Idga Mosque) at Mathura?

2. Yes 1. No

24a. (If Yes) Some people say that it would be justified to pull down the
mosque and replace it with a temple for Krishna, whilst other people say
that this action is not justified. What about you? Do you think it is justified
or unjustified to pull it down?

3. Justified 2. Can’t say 1. Unjustified

9. Inapplicable

25. Now I would like to ask about government officials and political leaders.
Have you ever contacted any government official for any need or problem?

334
 2. Yes 1. No

26. Have you ever contacted a political leader for any need of problem?

2. Yes 1. No

27. And do you personally know any party leaders or any candidates in this
constituency?

2. Yes 1. No

28. Who is your current MP from this constituency?

2. Correct 1. Incorrect 8 . DK

29. Who is the Chief Minister of this state?

2. Correct 1. Incorrect 8 . DK

30. Who is the Prime Minister of our country?

2. Correct 1. Incorrect 8 . DK

31. I would now like to ask some further questions about yourself and your
household. Do you personally read any newspapers?

2. Yes 1. No

31a. (If Yes) How often - regularly, sometimes or rarely?

3. Regularly 2. Sometimes 1. Rarely

9. Inapplicable

3 lb. (If Yes) Which language newspaper(s) do you read?

1. Hindi 2. English 3. Hindi and English

32. And do you listen to radio?

2. Yes 1. No

32a. (If Yes) How often - regularly, sometimes, or rarely?

3. Regularly 2, Sometimes 1. Rarely

9. Inapplicable

33. And do you watch TV?

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 2. Yes 1. No

33a (If Yes) How often - regularly, sometimes or rarely?

3. Regularly 2. Sometimes 1. Rarely

9. Inapplicable

33b (If Yes) And do you watch cable?

2. Yes 1. No

33c Which of these sources do you depend on most for getting information
about elections, parties and candidates?

0. None 4. Newspaper and Radio

1. Newspaper 5. Newspaper and TV
2. Radio 6. Radio and TV
3. TV 7. All three

34 Now, I would like to ask your opinion about different institutions of India
in which you may have a good deal of trust, some trust or no trust at all.

Institutions Great Somewhat Not At

Deal all
a. How much trust do you have in the central 3 2 1
government - a great deal, somewhat or not
trust at all?

b. How much trust do you have in the state 3 2 1

government?

c. How must trust do you have in local 3 2 1

government/ panchayat/municipality?
d.
e. How much trust to you have in the Judiciary? 3 2 1

f. How much trust do you have in political 3 2 1

parties?

g. How much trust do you have in government 3 2 1

officials?

h. How much trust do you have in elected 3 2 1

representative?

f. How much trust do you have in the police? 3 2 1

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35. Now, I would like to read you some statements, please tell me whether you
are personally for or against each o f the following.

Statement For D.K., No Against

opinion
a. Marriage between people from different religions 3 2 1

b. Marriage between people from different castes 3 2 1

c. Marriage between people from different subcastes 3 2 1

d. Reservation in government jobs for Backward 3 2 1

castes

36. And now please tell me whether you agree or disagree with each of he
following?

Statement Agree D.K., Disagree

No
opinion
a. More should be done for the needs and problems 3 2 1
of Muslims in India
b. India should make efforts to develop friendly 3 2 1
relations with Pakistan
c. Every community should be allowed to have its 3 2 1
own laws to govern marriage and property rights

37 Now I would like to talk about your personal finances. During the last few
years, has your financial situation improved, worsened o f has it stayed the
same?

3. Improved 2. Stayed the same 1. Worsened 8. DK

BACKGROUND DATA

1. Name............................................

2. Age (in years)..............................................................

3. Sex 1. Male 2. Female

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4. Religion: 1. Hindu 2. Muslim 3. Christian 4. Sikh

5. Buddhist 6. Jain 7. Parsi

8. Other (specify)

5. (For Hindus) Varna: 1 Brahman 2 Kshatriya 3 Vaishya

4 Shudra

6. Caste/Community:.......................................................

7. Subcaste:..........................................................

8 Got/gotra (natal got/gotra for married women)...............................

9 Myth o f origin of caste (record)

1. Know it 2. Don’t Know it 9. NA

10. Myth of origin of got/gotra (Record)

1. Know it 2. Don’t Know it 9. NA

11. Marital Status 1. Unmarried 2. Married

3. Divorced etc.

12 (If married) Age at marriage

12a Age at gauna

13. Type of marriage

2. Arranged marriage 1. Love marriage

14. How did your father write his name

15. How did your grandfather write his name

16. Do you have any children?

2. Yes 1. No

16a. (If Yes) How many?

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17. Highest level of education:

Level R Spouse R’s R’s Spouse Spouse Son Daughter

Father Mother Father Mother
1. Illiterate

2. Literate-no
formal
education
3. Primary

4. Middle
School
5. High
School
6. College-no
degree
7. College-
degree
8. Graduate/
Professional
9. NA

18a. What is/has been your main occupation?_________________________

18b. What is/has been the main occupation of your husband/wife?________

18c. (If in business) In which of the following income categories does your
business fit?

3. Small business (up to Rs. 3000 per month)

2. Medium business (from Rs. 3000 to Rs. 10.000 per month)
1. Big business (more than Rs. 10.000 per month)

19. What is/has been the main occupation of your spouse? (Ask for details of
main skills)

20 What is/has been the main occupation of your father?

21. What is/has been the main occupation of your grandfather?

22. Now I would like to ask about your household necessities. How much
monthly do you spend on food, medicine and education?

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23. Have you, or any member of your family, benefited from the OBC/SC
reservation policy?

2. Yes 1. No

I f the respondent is a Medium or Big Businessman, ask Q. 24 to Q.32:

24. Please describe how you came to be involved in your business: Did you
start it up yourself? If so, why?

Record the main reasons:

25. (If they started it themselves) How did you finance your operation at the
outset?

1. Bank loan 2. Family 3. Friends 4. Money lender

26. How do you recruit employees?

27. Do you employ any family members?

2. Yes 1. No

28. Do you maintain significant business links with your extended kin?

2. Yes 1. No

28. On the whole, who buys your goods or services? How would you describe
your main customers?

29. Total Number of Employees

30. Thinking about the nature of you business, please say whether you think
the following are very important, important, or make no difference to the
success of your business.

Very Important Important Makes no

difference
Family 2 1 3
connections
Political 2 1 3
connections
Education 2 1 3
Social (school or 2 1 3
club) connections
Business skills 2 1 3
Product quality 2 1 3
Marketing 2 1 3

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31. Are there any groups of people with whom you prefer not to have business
relations?

2. Yes 1. No

31a. (If yes) Which groups?

32 Do you think that corruption harms your business environment?

2. Yes 1. No

33 Now I would like to ask some further questions about yourself and your
household. Do you or a member of your household own any land?

2. Yes 1. No

33a (If yes) How much?

Total Land...................... Acres Irrigated Land.........................Acres

34. And do you or a member of your household own any non-agricultural land
for housing, etc.?

2.Yes 1. No

35. Do you own your own house?

2. Yes 1. No

35a. (If yes) Do you have any houses that you rent out to tenants?

2 Yes 1 No

35b. (If yes) At what rent?

36. Now, please tell me if you or a member of your household own any of the
following:

a. Car/jeep/tractor 2 Yes 1 No
b. Scooter/Motor Cycle 2 Yes 1 No
c. Bicycle 2 Yes 1 No
d. Electric fan 2 Yes 1 No
e Full-time servant 2 Yes 1 No
f. Part-time servant 2 Yes 1 No
g. Television -black and white 2 Yes 1 No
-Colour 2 Yes 1 No
h. Radio/Transistor 2 Yes 1 No

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 i. Bullock-cart 2 Yes 1 No
j. buffalo (no.________) 2 Yes 1 No
k. cow (no________) 2 Yes 1 No
1. Bullocks 2 Yes 1 No
m. Goat/sheep 2 Yes 1 No

37. Source of drinking water: (Multiple sources expected)

1. Tap 2. Hand pump 4. Well 8. River

16. Jet Pump 32. Submergible Pump 64. Other (specify)

38. Have you ever borrowed any money?

2. Yes 1. No

38a (If Yes) From whom did you borrow it?

1. Caste fellows
2. Other jatis
4. Relatives
8. Friends
16. Banks
99. Not applicable

39b (If Yes) At what rate of interest did you borrow the money___________

39c (If Yes) And did you have to mortgage anything to receive the loan

2. Yes 1. No

40. Now I would like to talk about religion. Do you consider yourself a
religious person?

1. Non religious
2. Very religious
3. Moderately Religious

41. And do you visit religious shrines?

2. Yes 1. No

41a (If Yes) Which of the following:

1. Mandir 3. Hindu Samadhis

2.Majsid 4. Durghas

41b How often?

3. Regularly 2. Sometimes 1. Rarely

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 9. Inapplicable

41c (If Yes) Which temple? Which mosque? Which durghas? Which church?
(record the names and locations)

42. How often do you perform puja/namazl Regularly, rarely, or never?

1. Regularly 2. Rarely 3. Never

43. Who is your kuldevi?___________________________

44. Who is your kuldevtal___________________________________

45. Do you worship any particular local god? (for example Gogaji,
Mekhasur...)

2. Yes 1. No

45a. (If Yes) Who do you worship?______________________

46. Are you vegetarian?

2. Yes 1. No

47. (Ask Hindus about Muslims and Muslims about Hindus) Do you
usually attend Muslim/Hindu marriages and /or festivals?

2 Yes 1 No

47a (If yes) Which ones?

48 Do you have a Guru?

2. Yes 1. No

48a (If Yes) Give the name?

49. Are you a member of a particular sampradayl

2. Yes 1. No

49a. (If Yes) Give the name?

50. Has any member of your family ever become a Sadhul

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 2. Yes 1. No

51. Do you do bali (sacrifice)?

2. Yes 1. No

52 Did your father or grandfather used to do it?

2. Yes 1. No

52b (If Yes) For which occasions?

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